#but hand sewing gives me more control over the making of a plush

[the-shy-artisan]

omg after like a week and a half of struggling, i finally got some of my second beastos's face embroidered on ;;

[saltymongoose]

Phobos probably has made a plushie of the player and takes it with him EVERYWHERE and sleeps with it like a little child

Maybe even speaks to it sometimes smh

Omfg, that would end very badly for Phobos if he did that before you entered Nevada lmao. I can imagine that he'd have to have nabbed some form of detailed description from the Auditor's notes in order to even make the thing (or even worse, a picture). He'd probably just leave it in his room at first before deciding to take it with him everywhere, keeping it gently clutched in one of his arms as he goes about his day. It's a comforting reminder of you, and he even cuddles with it at night (perhaps desperately trying to convince himself that he can feel some of your characteristic warmth from it like it's a religious artifact you have control of or something).

He tells it all of his little plans, both for his eventual rule of Nevada and for what he'd do when you finally came down to grace him with your presence. He considered it inevitable that you'd meet (he's your first and most devout follower, so why wouldn't you want to see him?) and believes that with enough prayer, your interest in him'll grow enough to make it happen. The rambling he does to the toy is just more worship, insofar as he's concerned.

(Cut here because this response got oddly long lol)

His workers are all very confused about why their boss has a stuffed toy all the time, it's extremely unprofessional and oddly childlike for him (since he has to have it on him at all times). He also gets angry whenever any of them so much as moves in the general direction of it, so they know how protective he is of the thing. It really weird, but the Director's antics are not any of their business. So he continues carrying it around everywhere, speaking to it in front of other grunts and sleeping with it in his arms.

At least it's like this until the Auditor sees the plushie. He'd immediately recognize who it's supposed to be (I mean he spends 90% of his time looking at you anyway, it'd be more insulting if he didn't) and the feeling of annoyance that occasionally nags at him when interacting with the Director skyrocketed into genuine rage. How does he even know what you look like? And how dare he defile your image with something so childish!? You were a higher being, far beyond the comprehension of someone so moronic. Doing such a thing is extremely disrespectful, and he won't stand for it.

Both the AAHW and Nexus Core personnel can attest to the fact that the Employer is terrifying, but it's even worse when he's angry. The flames that make up his being grow larger and more volatile as he tries to threaten Phobos into giving the plush to him. Why he wants it, nobody knows, but judging by the way the Director actually refuses with a sneer, the issue goes far beyond just the stuffed toy. (The Nexus Agents share a look with the AAHW members who arrived with the Auditor and just decide to leave. They can deal with whatever this is later.)

But if Phobos did this after you met him, things would go a lot differently. You'd probably just give it a confused look before a slight smile spreads across your face, reaching your hands out to grasp it and look it over as your eyes shine with amusement. "Hey, this is pretty good. I don't know why you made it, but it's very accurate. Remind me to get one of you, okay? I want to match."

(The Nexus Scientists internally facepalm when they see that they need to divert important manpower to make a stuffed animal in the Director's likeness, and one that he insisted on perfection with. Even worse, the order came from Phobos himself, so they couldn't just ignore the missive and pretend they never got it. Now to find anyone who actually knows how to sew.)

[heavenbarnes]

PLEASE STAND BY: The times they are a-changin’

Wanda Maximoff x female reader

Warning/Contains: spoilers for “WandaVision”, aspects of mind-control meaning reader isn’t truly consenting, parts of this don’t make sense and are designed to make you feel strange, cheating, oral sex (f!receiving), sex toys, fingering, a lil bit of 60s gender roles

Word Count: 2.6k

i hope i’m conveying how the aspects of sex change with the decade? i also hope you’re enjoying these as much as i am! lets get weird x

MASTERLIST

Kissing James on the cheek and waving him off down the driveway was just how you started your days. Sometimes it felt like you began existing the moment your lips touched his skin, and then you were waiting for your next move.

Waiting for her to need you.

To say you were pleased when Wanda phoned you up, that would be an understatement. Your heart had jolted a bit, just stoked to hear from her. The clip in her voice had put you back a bit, she sounded anxious, needing you round at her place as soon as you could.

You’d been folding clothes on the couch but dropped them in an instant, immediately gathering yourself and heading a couple clicks down the street, stood on the Vision’s porch with knuckles wrapping against the tall door.

The moment those wide eyes greeted you, it was hard to match her nervous energy. There was something about being close to her, it was like something took over your senses and you just felt right. You felt like you two were always meant to be close.

“What’s up, buttercup?” You asked, stepping over the threshold. 

Leaving your pumps by the front door, you let your stockinged feet enjoy their plush shag carpet. Mentally, you made note to tell your husband that you needed to get onto this new decorating fad.

Wanda snapped you from your thoughts by directing your attention to the fabric clutched in her hands. “Oh, love!” She sighed with the perfect dramatics. “It’s a disaster.”

Dropping your purse on the loveseat, you came closer and let the sequined fabric sift through your fingers. A sweet little leotard, shiny and eye-catching, with-oh!

With a sizeable rip trailing up the side of the zipper.

“Vis and I are meant to be impressing the town with our act, I can’t go out looking like this!”

You eyed up the tiny outfit, tilting your head with a scrunch of your nose. “If I saw you on stage in this little number, I’d be more than impressed.”

Wanda’s mouth dropped in a gasp, hand coming up to give your arm a playful smack whilst she was at it. The moment you saw the smile creep onto her features, you knew you’d hit your mark, she was cooling it just a little.

“Good thing I am a wizard with a sewing needle!” You handed the garment back to her. “Put this on and let me have a crack at it.”

As she rushed off to the bedroom, you fished around your purse for a moment. Somehow, you had managed to leave a tray of sewing supplies in the bottom of it, with what seemed to be the perfect color of thread. You readied the needle, waiting on the arm of the couch as you heard her fluffing about in the bedroom.

She called your name in a sing-song voice. “You ready?”

“Yes, Wanda!” You called back, darting your head up as she entered.

The needle you’d rested between your teeth dropped into your palm as your mouth flopped like a carp, the sight before you too good to believe.

“Shut that, you’ll catch flies.” She teased, long legs striding towards you that you couldn’t tear your eyes from.

“Vision is really going to let you out in front of the town looking that good? Hope he can put up a good fight!”

You spun her around as she just shook her head at you, allowing you to pull at the fabric splayed across her back. Pinching it carefully as not to accidentally stick her with a pin, you gently began to thread the material back together. Wanda sung gently to the sweet melody that played from the radio.

Unchained melody, to be precise, before you knew it your head was swaying in time to the sweetest sounds.

Crouching slightly, the mini-dress you’d chosen this morning might’ve been a pretty sight, but it wasn’t one for movement. Hiking it even further up your thighs, you bopped down to get eye-line with the tear in the fabric. 

Strange as it might seem, this was your bliss, Wanda singing quietly and your hands on her waist with no questions asked. You might’ve taken a tad longer than normal to stitch away, but you were relishing your time. Thinking on it, the song seemed longer than you remembered but as long as Wanda was singing, you didn’t mind.

Once the tear was closed, you broke the thread and gently ran your hands down Wanda’s shoulder blades. “All done! Just be careful when you get out of the thing.”

Tossing you a look back over her shoulder, her eyes cast you up and down. “Will you come give me a hand.”

You might’ve swallowed hard, but you certainly agreed, nodding your head quickly as you followed her into the bedroom. The hanger was laid out on the bed in wait as you carefully drew down the zipper.

It was like all the air was sucked out of the room, the only sound of the Righteous Brothers still crooning away on the radio beside the bed. Wanda shimmied slightly as you brought the fabric off of her with the steadiest your hands could manage. It wasn’t your fault she made you shake, she was a fox, she knew it and so did you.

Once she drew her legs out of it, you reached for the hanger, slotting the straps onto it and putting it up in the wardrobe ready for the performance. To show your manners, you placed your hand over your eyes as you turned back to face her. 

Hearing her chuckle, you shot her a goofy little grin, not expecting to feel her delicate fingers wrap around your wrist. Slowly and slightly tugging, she brought your hand down with her own. Breath caught in your throat, your eyes widened on their own account as you took her in.

“You can look, sweets,” The sound of her voice nearly knocking you out. “I want you to look.”

You didn’t know where the confidence came from, all you knew was the feeling of launching towards her. Your hands wrapped around her jaw, pulling her mouth against your own as her own fingers gripped the fabric of your shirt. You moved your grasp down until your palms were against the bare skin of her sides.

Head spinning with the overwhelming feeling of...her. For all you’d thought of this, every time you were near her your head would fill with the filthiest thoughts, you couldn’t believe you were finally getting your hands on her.

Her lips tasted sweet, they felt like a summer holiday you’d dreamt to recreate. Wanda was so all-consuming, the way she moved against you, moved for you it was all so perfect and so very much a testament to who she was. Maybe without her knowing, she revealed herself in the way she held you, the way she let you in.

She made quick work of the Mary-Quant-number you were itching to get out of, flinging garments around the room until you were both left as naked as the days you were born. Backing her up to the plush mattress, you lay her back against it, inching up slowly till you were between those long legs.

“Oh boy,” You sighed, manicured fingernails gently trailing up her. “You’re gonna’ drive me wild.”

Wanda giggled, the sound trailing off and becoming entwined with the music still filling the room, her hands came to rest against your cheeks. Grasping her thighs, you lifted them over your shoulders till you were face to face with the object of desires.

You could hardly control yourself, immediately wrapping your lips around her and earning yourself a pretty little cry straight from her lips. Fingers wrapping around your head and pulling you in, you moaned just a tad against her as your lips gently captured the tiny bundle of nerves.

There was no doubt, you would let your jaw go numb and your tongue fall off if it meant you could lay here and draw these sounds out of Wanda for the rest of your days. Her gentle whimpers and moans were like liquid honey, dripping across everything and leaving it all just that bit sweeter.

You felt her shuffling above you but paid it no mind, your eyes closed as you savored the pretty taste that only she could come out with. In a moment, she was tapping you gently, pushing something into your hands.

Lifting your head, you studied the peculiar thing that Wanda had given you. Bright yellow and shaped like a large lipstick, you screwed your nose up at it before it struck you. You’d heard about these things but never thought you needed one, you must say, James knew a thing or two.

“Vis not doing it for you any longer?” It was certainly tongue and cheek, it earnt you a gentle smack.

“Of course not, it’s just Dotty had a party and was selling these.” Her cheeks were already flaming. “Practically made me take one!”

“Oh, I’m sure she had you under mind control!”

Nevertheless, you turned it on and the powerful vibrations came through, enough to shake your hand a little. Keeping eye contact with Wanda, you lay the electric-banana against her, watching her whole body mellow out into the bed.

A dirty smile overtook your features, you could get behind these kinds of things if this is what they turned her into. Wanda’s hips rolled up and her mouth dropped with a heady moan, one of the most exquisite things you’d ever heard. It was enough to have you rubbing your own thighs together.

Licking a stripe up two of your fingers, you brought them to her entrance, gently pressing them in as she rolled against the natural motion. She was tight, gripping you almost instantly as you eased your way in. Crooking your fingers up, her hands came to your no-longer-neat hairdo, tugging on it as the feelings took over her.

Working both the gadget and your fingers in time together, Wanda’s whole body was reacting beneath you. Her back arched from the bed, toes curled against your shoulder blades. Soon her hands left your hair, coming to her breasts to tweak against them, sweet cries and whimpers still harmonizing with the radio.

Pressing the toy against her further, quirking your fingers forward, Wanda nearly screamed as her pleasure peaked and crumbled apart. Her body was visibly losing all tension as she felt apart beneath you. Turning off the toy and tossing it to the bed, you replaced it with your mouth to see her through her pleasure. The most luscious sounds of your name fell from her, obviously the only thing on her mind as she came apart and came back down to earth.

Passing her a robe, you let her cover herself as you did the same, fruitless attempts to fix your hair in the mirror before you made your way out. Both smiling at one another, she pressed a gentle kiss to your lips, leaning her forehead against your own as the radio started the same song over again.

“Hmm, this station sure loves Unchained Melody.” You laughed, Wanda chuckled quietly against you.

“Mmm,” She hummed, nipping your lips again. “They sure do.”

“I could do this, could do you all day, but I need to get going.” You sighed, unwilling to pull yourself away from her.

The static from the radio caught you both, choppy waves of sound overlapping one another and warping the Righteous Brother’s tunes. Prepared to leave it be, you cupped Wanda’s jaw for another sweet peck but stopped yourself short.

“Wanda-” Your eyes shot up to meet hers. “Wanda, do you copy?”

Slowly, you both turned your heads to watch the radio, brows furrowing in confusion at the signal intrusion. “Wanda, you don’t have to do this.”

Your body stiffened, skin prickled cold at the sound filling the room. Wanda didn’t react the same, she seemed to be overcome with a feeling of discontent. You dropped your hold to her arms, gently turning to look to her for explanation.

“Are you hearing this-”

Wanda shook her head, sighing deeply as her gaze stayed fixed on the radio. “Enough, I’ve had enough.”

“I could do this, could do you all day, but I need to get going.” You sighed, unwilling to pull yourself away from her.

Wanda gave you another sweet kiss, but still allowed you to step away and find your purse and shoes. As you were straightening yourself out a tad, the door swung open, Vision returning home from work.

“Ah, what a lovely surprise.” He smiled at you, hanging up his jacket. “So pleased you two have each other, nothing more dangerous than a bored housewife!”

You and Wanda quickly caught each other’s eye, both giving up a keen wink as Wanda opened her mouth with a smirk. “You have no idea.”

“I apologize, Vision, I am just leaving! If you’re home, my James must be too.” Offering them both a wave goodbye, you hurried back up the street to your husband.

Laying two plates of meatloaf on the dining table, James smiled sweetly as he began to cut into it. “And how was your day?”

“Good, thank you,” You smiled, taking one bite of the meal. “Spent it with Wanda, yours?”

James too took a single bite of his dinner, crossing his cutlery and pushing the plate back up the table. “Very busy, lots of things to do, but it was good.”

You pushed away your plate, taking a sip from your wine glass as you smiled at him. James reached across the table, fingers grasping your own gently as he squeezed your hand. Looking into his eyes, he’d never looked so lovely, he’d never looked more like your whole world-

Both of your heads whipped to the door, the sound of a thump from outside drawing your attention. Frowning at one another, you both stood and walked to the window. James stayed behind you, hands gently grasping your waist as you both tried to scout out the source of the sound.

Walking down to the sidewalk, that’s when you saw it. Emerging from the sewer grate in the center of your street was a man, a bee-keeper to be precise. James held you just a bit tighter, pulling you closer into his front as you both studied the peculiar sight.

You didn’t know what caused you to cast your gaze up the street, but you were met with the Vision’s, his expression matching your own in a tinge of fear. You saw Wanda straighten up, her lips pursed as if she was making a conscious decision. “No.”

You pushed away your plate, also, taking a sip from your wine glass as you smiled at him. James reached across the table, picking up your dinner plate with his own to clear the table. “Time to hit the hay?”

Laying beside him in your plush bed, you reached across, gently brushing some of his hair back behind his ear. He opened his eyes, looking to you with that kind smile that’d made you once fall in love, and that was when you saw it.

“James,” You cooed, leaning in till you were nose to nose. “You have the most beautiful blue eyes.”

-

“Now, I may be jumping the gun here but you ever notice the way the scenes never last when it’s just Bucky and 19 together?”

The screen glowed bright in those technicolor strips, signaling the end of the broadcast. 

“She could spend a whole day with Wanda, doing nothing just chatting on the sofa together, but get her alone with Bucky and suddenly the scene wants to reset itself.”

The transmission crackled, the waves chopping just slightly, still those letters lay bold across the screen.

“PLEASE STAND BY.”

[earliebirb]

nosedive

steve/tony, fluff, (newly) established relationship, 3250 words

Tony stares absentmindedly out the airplane window as he puts his phone up to his ear, watching people run back and forth, performing last-minute engine checks. Some of the guys look sweaty and out of breath.

From the comfort of the air-conditioned Stark Industries private jet, he feels a slight twinge of sympathy for the people having to suffer in the humid summer heat.

He loosens his tie and sinks deeply into his seat, closing his eyes with a massive yawn as he listens to the ringing tone. He hadn’t been able to sleep very well throughout his five-day stay in Tokyo, too anxious about the contract to rest properly. 

The ringing tone goes on for a few more seconds before ending with a click, replaced by an achingly familiar voice greeting him in his ear. 

“Hello?” 

Tony’s eyes spring open. Outside, an aircraft marshaller walks by, speaking rapidly into his walkie-talkie.

“I had a blueberry muffin for lunch today. One single blueberry muffin.”

“...What?”

“It didn’t even taste that good. I couldn’t finish it. Too dry.”

“Tony, that’s not good. Is that all you had for lunch? You should really eat—”

“The meeting went well, by the way. Mr. Watanabe finally signed the contract, everything went as planned. My ride to the airport, however…”

“I told you things would go smoothly, you had nothing to worry about. You’re a brilliant negotiator—”

“The traffic? Fuck. I had to keep shifting in my seat to avoid pins and needles.”

“That sounds awful, are your legs okay—”

“Did you know that Tokyo is number nineteen on the list of cities with the worst traffic congestion in the world? I know that, because I looked it up on the way to the airport. But boy, did it feel like it deserved the number one spot. I think I lost feeling in my ass.”

“I did not know that. And, uh, is your ass okay—”

“Thank God for my private jet. These plush seats are the best things I’ve ever spent my money on.”

“That’s objectively not true, and you know it—”

“Then again, I think these seats in particular were Pepper’s choice? We remodeled the airplane’s interior like… two years ago. I couldn’t be bothered to meet with the airplane seat people and I just told her to pick whichever looked best. I had much more important things to tend to, like sewing up the holes in JARVIS’s Christmas stocking.”

“I am concerned about how you sort your list of priorities—”

“Hm, that’s right. I think it was around two, three weeks before Christmas and I didn’t want JARVIS to be upset about the whole stocking thing, you know?”

“I’m sure he wouldn’t have—”

“Also, you’re right, the single blueberry muffin was a bad idea because now my stomach won’t shut up. So I’ve ordered some pasta for my in-flight meal. Robbie’s making it, you’ve met Robbie—”

“I’ve met Robbie, yes, he’s—”

“Larry’s replacement after he resigned. Gotta say, I was sad to see Larry go. Guy worked for me for seven years. But then there was that thing with his grandma, and he had to leave, so… But! Robbie makes a mean carbonara, maybe even better than Larry, don’t tell Larry I said that—”

“I don’t even know Larry like that, how would I—”

“Mr. Stark, we’re ready to go.” The pilot—Paul—emerges from the cockpit, staring at him in anticipation.

Tony nods and makes a few rapid gestures with his free hand that he supposes Paul is only able to interpret perfectly after years and years of working for Tony. The gestures roughly translate to something like “Copy, I hear you, just let me wrap this up and then I’ll let you know when I’m done. Capiche?”

Paul—bless him—just gives him a curt nod and retreats back into the cockpit. 

“Anyway,” Tony takes a deep breath and puffs his cheeks out with the exertion of his exhale, “I called because… I got a feeling, Steve.”

“A… feeling?”

“Just— A gut feeling. A feeling in your gut. Inside of me. Like a hunch?”

“Okay,” Steve says patiently, his voice low and warm, “what are you feeling?”

“I… got a bad feeling. Today. A few hours ago. The feeling came to me when I was sitting in traffic, and I just— I feel like something bad’s gonna happen today, Steve. I can feel it in the air. In my heart. In my gut. In my joints.”

“Your joints? Like… the feeling old people get when it’s about to rain?”

“Okay, maybe not in my joints. Also, are you calling me old, grandpa?”

“I did not, you told me you felt something in your—”

“Anyway, so yeah. Where was I? Oh, right. Feeling. Bad feeling. Like, like, I don’t know, something bad’s gonna happen. Like an accident. Like a plane crash.”

“God, please don’t say that. You’re scaring me, Tony.”

“And I guess, I just called because I… I feel like I need to do this before the plane crashes and I die a violent and fiery death.”

“Nothing bad’s going to happen, Tony—”

“Like, if I didn’t do this today, maybe I’d never get to do it, you know? And, uh, okay, I’ve honestly been ranting to stall for time, but the longer I keep it in the more nauseous I feel, so maybe I’m just gonna do it now so I can die in peace—”

“Do what? And stop saying that—”

“Look, I’m trying to be brave and honest here and— Wait, actually? Maybe I’m being a coward because if the plane actually does go down, I won’t have to face the consequences of my actions, so I guess I’m just going to say fuck it, and say that I love you.”

“The plane is not going to— Wait, what?”

“I, uh. Love you. I’ve known it for a while now. And, uh, I know we’ve only been dating for like, a week, but—” Tony blinks. They’ve only been dating for a week. 

“...Fuck.” Tony can feel his own pulse starting to race. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“Tony?”

They’ve only been dating for a week. What is he doing? What the hell is wrong with him? Normal people don’t do this. 

“Fuck. Shit, I mean— Uh, I’m sorry. That was super weird, huh?” Tony laughs nervously. He closes his eyes, gritting his teeth and cursing his stupid brain. Of course it’s weird. He always gets too attached to people way too quickly. No wonder Pepper was his only long term relationship. She was the only person who could put up with him—everyone else just got weirded out. “Uh, see you tomorrow? Or not. Fuck, sorry, I’m just gonna hang up before this gets—”

“Tony, wait.”

“...Yeah?” Tony says, hyper-aware of how breathless he sounds. His heartbeat is ringing in his ears. Everything is going to be fine. Right? Right. The worst thing Steve could do is… break up with him.

Oh, God, that is the worst case scenario. He really should’ve just kept his stupid mouth shut. 

“Tony, are you freaking out? I feel like I can hear you freaking out from all the way over here.”

“No, I’m not, of course I’m not. Who says I’m freaking out? You have no proof. I am calm, I’m calm as a clam, is that the saying? Did I get it right? Or was it happy— Anyway, I am absolutely calm, I’m the calmest I could possibly be. Any calmer and I’d be asleep. I’m—”

“Tony. Breathe.”

Tony forces himself to drag in a slow breath as he grips the arm of his seat with his free hand, focusing on the soothing hum of the airplane’s engine.

“Look, Tony, I—”

“No, listen. I’m sorry I jumped the gun, I hope I haven’t weirded you out or anything. You really, really don’t have to say it back to me. I mean it.”

“Tony—”

“No, in fact— Please don’t say anything. It’s fine. Let’s just pretend this never happened, okay?”

“But—”

“Drop it, Steve. Please?” Tony pleads. Clearly, his brain hadn’t been firing on all cylinders. That is the only reason that could explain his temporary lapse of judgment. “Look, I feel like talking about it more right now is going to send me spiraling into a panic attack.”

“...Okay. Fine.”

“Thank you. Uh, I’ll see you when I get home. If I get home. If the plane doesn’t crash. Haha.”

“Would you please stop saying that? It’s not funny.”

Tony latches onto the change in topic like a lifeline. “It is objectively true, you know. In order for me to be able to see you tomorrow, the plane has to land safely, and unfortunately, some things are just beyond my control. Like, who’s to say the plane won’t explode mid-air and—”

“The plane is going to land safely and you’re going to come back home to me in one piece. This is non-negotiable, Tony. You hear me?” Steve demands, his voice all hard authority and no-nonsense, like there will be Consequences should Tony fail to comply. 

As if he could ensure Tony’s safety with the force of his willpower alone. 

Come back home to me. 

That sounds good. Really good. Tony closes his eyes and pictures Steve’s baby blues in his mind’s eye. Warmth flowers in his chest.

“I hear you.”

“Great.”

“Awesome. I, uh, I gotta go now.”

“Okay. See you tomorrow.”

“See you.”

Tony hangs up and lets Paul know that he is done with his phone call. The jittery feeling left over from his call with Steve refuses to leave him, however, so he pulls up the drawing application on his phone and begins sketching something just to give his brain something else to fixate on.

He tends to lose track of time when he is hyperfocused on a project, so he isn’t exactly surprised that the next time he becomes aware of his surroundings, the plane is already well up in the air, his sketch of what looks like a flying coffee pot is almost finished, and Robbie is placing a plate of spaghetti carbonara on the table in front of him. 

“Spaghetti carbonara. With extra cheese.”

Tony’s mouth waters as he eyes the mountain of grated Pecorino Romano sitting atop the pasta. He sighs dreamily and smiles up at Robbie.

“You’re a lifesaver.”

“Enjoy, Boss.” Robbie grins and slips back into the kitchen.

He only realizes just how truly famished he is after taking his first bite, and proceeds to finish the rest of his meal with gusto. Afterward, he spends the majority of the remaining flight time sleeping, the result of post-carbonara food coma and his sleep-deprivation finally catching up to him. 

It’s well past two in the morning when Tony finally makes it to his floor in the Tower, which is why he is surprised to see Steve sitting on his couch, one of Tony’s fantasy novels open in hand. 

“Steve, what are you doing here?”

Steve’s head snaps up at the sound of his voice. Tony frowns. “Actually, why are you awake at all?” He is usually an early sleeper, unless—

“Nightmare?” Tony gives him a sympathetic smile. It wouldn’t be the first time. In the early days of their friendship, Tony and Steve would sit together in the living room whenever they had trouble sleeping, talking to each other until the sun came up.

Steve shakes his head, closing the book with his eyes still trained on Tony. “No, I was just… waiting for you.” Tony blinks. 

“It’s…” Tony glances at his watch. “Half past two. In the morning.”

“I know, I just…” Steve stands up, shoving his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants. He ambles over before coming to a stop right in front of Tony. “I wanted to see you.”

Tony stares at him uncomprehendingly. “You’ll see me later anyway.”

“I couldn’t wait any longer. I didn’t want to go to sleep without seeing you first,” Steve says, low and earnest. His gaze wanders around Tony’s face, as if he were cataloguing each and every facial feature and trying to locate any changes he might’ve missed during his absence.

“Oh.”

Steve steps closer, arms snaking around Tony’s waist and pulling him close. His next words are whispered against Tony’s shoulder.

“I knew you’d make it home safely.”

“Uh, yeah.”

“You were wrong.”

“I was… wrong.” Tony swallows. “Uh, turns out the bad feeling completely disappeared after I woke up from my nap on the plane, so I suspect that perhaps the bad feeling I got was due to my severe hunger and sleep deprivation. I mean, I’ve heard about hallucinations caused by hunger or exhaustion, but this was—” 

Steve presses a soft kiss to the column of Tony’s neck, effectively cutting off Tony’s ramblings.

“Tony,” Steve whispers against his skin.

“Yeah?” Tony squeaks.

“Please don’t call me before a flight and say that you think the plane is going to crash, ever again.”

“Right. Noted. I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted,” Steve says, pulling away slightly and loosening his hold around Tony.

Tony allows himself to relax, letting out a quiet sigh. This thing with Steve is so new and delicate that every single physical contact still sends his heart fluttering, butterflies going crazy in his stomach.

Which makes, in retrospect, his abrupt love confession—as truthful as it was—that much more insane. God, Stark. Never do that again.

Except, it turns out that Steve only pulled away to slide his hands down the back of Tony’s thighs, wrapping his hands around them, and then lifting him up without warning.

Tony yelps, and in his alarm, promptly locks his ankles around Steve’s waist. When Steve begins moving, Tony quickly wraps his arms around Steve, resting his chin on Steve’s shoulder.

“Uh, Steve?”

“Hm?” Steve says, calm and nonchalant, as he begins walking away from the elevator. 

“Um— Wait— My suitcase—”

“Leave it. It’ll still be there in the morning.”

Tony blinks, staring dumbfoundedly at his lonely suitcase, abandoned by the elevator. It becomes smaller and smaller with every step Steve takes. 

“Where are we going?”

“Your bedroom.”

“Why are you carrying me there?”

“Because I want to.”

“You know it’ll be faster if you just let me walk, right?”

“Maybe. But you won’t be in my arms.”

“Um.”

“Bear with me, will you? I missed you.”

“I, uh, missed you too.”

Steve hums, satisfied. Tony lets himself settle more comfortably in Steve’s arms.

When Steve has successfully carried him to his bedroom, Tony fully expects Steve to deposit him on the bed. 

That is not, in fact, what happens. 

Instead, Steve turns around and begins walking backwards towards the bed before sitting down on it. Tony, still seated on his lap, swallows and pulls back slightly to look at Steve. 

“Look, Steve, as much as I’ve missed you, I’m kind of tired right now. I mean, don’t get me wrong. This whole carrying thing? Great. Very romantic. Ten out of ten. But I’m just not in the mood for sex, you know? Like, I’m not even sure I would be able to get it up if—”

“We’re not going to have sex.”

Tony blinks.

“We’re not?”

“We’re not. I’m just here to tuck you in.”

“Oh.”

Steve reaches up and begins undoing his tie. After setting it aside on the bed, he begins to unbutton Tony’s shirt. He takes his time, one button at a time.

“So…” Steve begins with a deep breath as he unbuttons the final button. “Did you mean, uh, what you said to me? On the phone?”

Tony closes his eyes, feels his own cheeks heating up. “Steve—”

“I’m sorry, Tony, I know you told me to drop it. But— I feel like if you did mean what you said, I owe it to you to… set the records straight.” When Tony opens his eyes again, Steve is looking up at him, blue eyes solemn.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean… We have only been together for a week. Well, eight days. In fact, we’ve only been on one date. And it was interrupted. By giant lizards.” Steve chuckles incredulously. 

Tony remembers that day very well. They were in the middle of dessert at Tony’s favorite Italian place when they received the call to assemble—something about giant lizards wreaking havoc in Central Park.

The lizards had green, gunky blood that got into the nooks and crannies of the suit. It had taken forever to clean.

“But Tony…” Steve gathers the material of Tony’s unbuttoned shirt in both of his fists, pulling him closer until their noses are only inches apart.

The second their eyes meet, Steve smiles the sweet, lopsided smile that never fails to make Tony’s stomach flip.

“I need you to know that… I didn’t have to date you to know that I loved you. I figured that a long time ago.”

Tony stills, breath frozen in his lungs.

“I guess, what I’m saying is… I love you too. I’ve loved you for a very long time, Tony. Even way before—” Steve breaks eye contact, looks down as he clears his throat. When he speaks again, his voice is tight. “Way before we got together. I’m talking… years before.”

Tony still finds it hard to breathe. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Steve says, the word more breath than sound. He meets Tony’s dazed gaze. “So you don’t have to worry about… jumping the gun. Not with me. I’m in it for the long haul.”

“...Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Good.” Tony feels a lightness growing inside of him, spreading outwards to his extremities.

“Good.” Steve smiles, warm and impossibly fond.

“...Glad we’re on the same page.” Tony’s gaze drops down to Steve’s lips.

“We are.” Steve inches closer, nose brushing Tony’s. He then tilts his head ever so slightly and takes Tony’s lower lip between his, kissing him so tenderly Tony’s heart feels like it’s about to burst with it.

Steve’s warm hands slide up Tony’s naked back under his open shirt, sending goosebumps breaking across his skin. Tony buries his hands in Steve’s hair and relishes the feeling of the soft strands caught between his fingers. They stay caught up in each other for a few moments, capturing and releasing each other’s lips until the need for breath becomes too unbearable.

They break apart eventually, accompanied by soft chuckles. Steve smiles up at him, lips slick and cherry red, courtesy of Tony. He reaches up to caress Tony’s right eyebrow with the pad of his thumb, fleeting and affectionate.

“Get some rest, okay? You must be really tired. I should probably go to bed, too.”

Tony looks down at his lap, clearing his throat. “Uh, I know that we haven’t done this before, but…”

Steve waits patiently for Tony to gather his thoughts, hands stroking up and down Tony’s sides.

“Do you want to stay with me tonight?” Tony finds the courage to meet Steve’s eyes, holding his breath.

Steve’s blue eyes are gazing at him intently, looking at him like he’s the only person in the world worth his sole, undivided attention.

Tony swallows. “No sex. Just to sleep. If you—”

“Yes.”

“Yeah?”

“I would like that very much.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Good.” Tony feels his own lips slowly curve up into a smile, wide and unbridled. 

“Good.” Steve nods, lips twitching, his eyes never leaving Tony’s. 

Tony grins, feeling near giddy with delight. “Glad we’re on the same page.”

“We are, sweetheart.” Steve looks up at him, blue eyes fond and smile radiant. “We definitely are.”

[scalpelandrose]

🐻‍❄️🔎Trafalgar Sibling Discoveries: The Talking Switch🐻‍❄️🔎

Summary: 4-year old Ross has a burning question about his parents that the rest of the crew had in the back of their minds for awhile, so he enlists his little sister, Lamia to help! (A/N: This really warmed my heart writing & I couldn’t stop smiling to myself ❤️🌹)

Ross watched intently as his dad went from giving concise instructions to the Polar Tang control room to chatting with quiet animation with his mom in their office. It was very interesting to the four-year-old how his parents were more reserved around others, but became talkative with the other around, so being a curious child, he set out to find the answer.

“Daddy, I want to go play with Lamia,” Ross told Law.

Law gave his son a small smile, helping him down from his lap, and finding his warmth towards his little sister reflective of how he and Lami used to be. Michelle’s heart also melted seeing Ross collect the toys he brought into the office, such as his plush bat Vladislav and his magnifying glass. Seeing how well the children got along reminded her of her own relationship with her younger brother and how they used to share so many conversations and items together.

“Ok, but make sure not to wake her up if she’s still napping,” Law chuckled, handing Michelle Ross’ polar bear hoodie.

“I’ll go with him to make sure Lamia’s up for playtime. She just got used to her new toddler bed, so she could still be a little weary,” Michelle reached over and rose up from her seat to give her husband a quick peck, as per their habit when they have to leave the other for something.

Ross enthusiastically led his mom down the hall humming the theme song to Sora the Warrior of the Seas, “I hope she’s awake, I want to talk to her about some things!”

Michelle giggled, wondering what Ross wanted to tell his sister, when most of what she could say was ‘Dada,’ ‘Mami,’ ‘Popo’ (Bepo), ‘Shishi’ (Shachi), ‘Gween’ (Penguin), and ‘Ro’ (Ross), “I’m sure she has many things to tell her big brother too after dreaming for so long.”

Luckily, they were met with the happy squeals of the one-and-three-quarters year old upon entering the kid’s room, with her golden eyes happily regarding her brother with enthusiasm, “Ro! Ro!”

“Hi Lamia!” he beamed, running over to her, and giving her a big hug, “How was nappy time?”

The little girl giggled and made babble as if answering her brother’s question, which Michelle made sure to discreetly record on her Den-Den Mushi to show Law later. The scene was just too precious and she felt like her heart would burst into a million candied rainbows. Along with that, there was another presence Michelle felt over shoulder, as if also observing the scene with her.

Rosinante had been watching over Law’s journey since his passing and had been protecting him to the best of his abilities in the afterlife. He’s seen his uphill battles alongside his victories. He felt his heart swell seeing the family that Law was finally able to have with the Heart Pirates and with Michelle, of whom he was thankful towards for sewing up the remaining pieces of Law’s heart and of whom he was confident would stick by Law’s side through thick and thin. Rosinante awwwwww’d for a good span of eternity watching his ‘grandchildren’ interact, before giving a wink to Ross when they made eye-contact. Ross had always been aware to his presence, even as an infant, and Lamia was the same way, being used to his presence on the ship, so they thought very little about it, even though it surprised their parents at times when Ross would say, “Grandpa Rosi says he wants you to make me more siblings.”

“Daddy and mommy will be in our office if you need anything, but I trust you two to be good kids, ok?” Michelle smiled, giving each child a kiss on the crown of their head.

“We will mommy!” Ross answered assuredly, with Lamia copying him with ‘Eewoo mami!”

Michelle paged Bepo to watch over the kids, which the polar bear gladly accepted.

When Michelle returned to her and Law’s shared office, the look of endearment on her face made him curious about what other adorableness their children did this time.

“Let me guess, Ross wanted to teach Lamia the Sora theme song,” he regarded his wife with a small curl of his lips.

“I think that’s something you’ll be doing, yourself, my Law-ve,” she playfully grinned with glee, “They did something even cuter and I actually have it recorded to show you.”

For the next few minutes, the parents took a break from their work to quietly gush about their children, with Law visibly clutching his heart the first time he saw his children embracing each other as if it was the happiest thing to do in the world.

“Play that again, mi xao,” Law asked, covering his mouth, and making room for his wife to sit on his lap, as they rewatched the clip for an insurmountable number of times.

“Lamia, I keep seeing the weirdest thing today,” Ross sat in front of his sister with an air of secrecy. The little girl clutched her snow leopard plush, looking into her brother’s grey eyes and tilted her head to the side. This sounded serious and she wondered why her brother was knitting his eyebrows like their dad. Was it a family thing to do? So she copied his expression.

“Mommy and daddy talk to each other more when they are in the same room, but with other people, even with our uncles and aunts, they are more quiet,” he communicated his observations, “Except for Uncle Luffy, but most of the time daddy yells at him, not like how he talks to mommy with a soft happy face.”

Lamia nodded, recognizing that this discussion involved their parents. She crawled over to him and booped their plushies together, which made Vladislav light up with a soft blue light.

Ross laughed seeing his little sister play, when it hit him, “Do you think…do you think mommy and daddy have eachother’s talking switch?”

“Uuu?” she questioned, putting a hand to her chin like her brother and nodded. Ross seemed to know many things, so he must be right, in her mind. Seeing his sister agree, Ross got up to pull out his journal to draw out some notes. He couldn’t fully write yet, but he knew from his mother that taking notes was important, especially if you’re investigating something.

Rosinante, who was watching them before Bepo arrived, thought that was actually a good question and found himself pondering too. ‘My grandchildren are so smart’ he thought with triumphantly proud tears running down his face, with a fist of conviction. Bepo then happily walked into the room.

“Minna-sannn~ How are you doing?” he beamed, with some apple juice for the kids on hand.

“Popo!”

“Bepo!”

The children ran over to him to give a big ‘Bepo hug,’ to one of their first best friends.

“We’re doing good!” Ross smiled, “but we have a question we want to ask you.”

“Sure! Anything for you guys!” he said, nuzzling Lamia.

“Does mommy and daddy own eachother’s talking switch?”

Bepo slightly paused, snapping out of his bliss at seeing the children, “Ehhh? What makes you ask that, Ross?”

“Mami, Dada,” Lamia said, putting the bat and snow leopard plushies together, until the bat lit up again. Which helped make it click for the polar bear.

“Do you mean they light around eachother?”

Ross nodded, “I see them talk more when they’re in the same room. So I wonder if mommy or daddy owns the others’ talking switch to do that.”

Now it was Bepo’s turn to ponder over that question. In all his years of knowing Law since he was a cub, that metaphor actually made a lot of sense, so much that it could be literal. For some reason, Law and Michelle even seemed to communicate when they were silent, so now he had to know how they did it. “Let’s ask your other aunt and uncles.”

What followed was a series of confused Heart Pirate members contemplating Ross’ question, while doting on the children. What constituted their stoic captain and his co-strategist and investigator to bloom around eachother? Sure, it was love, but even before that, they seemed to be able to communicate so naturally around eachother—even with jokes and quips some of them didn’t understand.

After some time passed, Law and Michelle finished their work and decided it was time for the children’s bath. They were met with contemplative crew members in the hallways and in the kid’s room.

“What’s going on?” Law inquired, seeing Shachi rock Lamia back and forth on the nursery chair, with Penguin and Bepo whispering something amongst themselves and Ross scribbling something in his journal.

Penguin was the one to speak up. “Captain. Do you and Nee-san…y’know, have a talking switch the other owns by any chance?”

“Huh?” he exclaimed with an arched brow.

“What do you mean by that?” Michelle interjected.

“Uhh, Ross do you want to explain?” Bepo suggested.

“I saw that you and mommy talk to eachother more than anyone else,” Ross innocently explained, “So after talking to Lamia, we thought you have the other’s talking switch to turn on when you want to have fun.”

The parents were initially caught off guard by their son’s observations and how he got the whole crew to participate in his survey.

“You’re very much like your mother seeing these things,” Law gently sighed, “I guess you can say it’s something like that.”

Michelle looked at Law at his comment, “I feel very comfortable around your dad, and he makes me want to say more, so I guess that’s one way to put it.”

“Ohh! So what Lamia thought was right!” Ross exclaimed, moving to hug his sister.

“Lamia?” Law asked in bewilderment. He knew his kids were precocious, but conspiring to figure something out about their parents was another level of surprise. Nevertheless, an overwhelming fatherly pride overtook him, as he picked up his son and daughter.

“You can do some more exploring later, but it’s time for you two to get clean,” he told the kids, as they clung onto him with laughter. They loved being close to their parents and Law always gave them a sense of safety. He was their hero, just like how Michelle was like a princess in their eyes. They actually believed that their parents met, because Law was a hero who won Michelle’s hand, like the fairy tales their parents would read to them.

“Make sure you ask where their switch is located! It’s probably their nipple!” Shachi called to the kids, earning him a menacing glare from the parents.

“Then, maybe the belly?” he suggested an octave higher, feeling their death glares burn through his sunglasses.

After helping Lamia brush her teeth and helping the kids in their oatmeal bath, Law approached his wife with Ross’ journal in hand, as she was getting fresh clothes for them.

“Looks like he’ll be your future assistant at this rate,” Law chuckled, looking at the doodles of him and Michelle next to a light switch, which appeared to make more speech bubbles come out of their mouth, “He even marked down where our ‘switch’ should be, after Shachi said that.”

“He did?” Michelle shook her head with an amused smile, peering at the journal, “Oh goodness. I think he took what I said about marking down all possibilities deeply to heart.”

She playfully poked at where her husband’s heart should be, but more precisely, his nipple, as circled by her son in the journal, causing Law to startle and freeze in place.

“What did you do that for, mi xao?” he exclaimed, moving her hand away to a safer place, like his shoulder.

“I was testing Ross and Lamia’s hypothesis, which I think could be a plausible one, seeing that I got you to talk,” she casually stated with a hint of sauciness.

“I think one thing they missed is how that particular ‘switch,’ can cause someone to react in other ways besides talking,” he replied with a neutral expression, but Michelle caught his double entendre.

“Oh? What other reactions does it cause?” she coyly asked.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” he smirked, “Aside from my reaction as one example, I can show you the others later.” Law looked back down at his son’s doodles, “He really is amazing.”

“It’s really sweet that he remembered everything I taught him,” Michelle gently agreed, laying her head on her husband’s shoulder, “Seeing the kids healthy and happy is blessing enough, but having them look up to us is more than I could ever ask for.”

Law leaned his head over to lay atop his wife’s, “You’re a good mother, so of course they look up to you. You’ve been by my side through everything, so I know you’d do the same for them…and any other Cora-san tells us to have, according to Ross.”

Her breath briefly caught in her throat. It was surreal that they could share this moment together after all the toil they’ve been through. All they’ve ever wished for was to find and keep a sense of family that they’ve lost in the past, and to see that they were able to create something so beautiful and nurture it well, deeply impacted the couple.

“They also have a good father, who wouldn’t let anything bad happen to them, and that’s why Ross says you’re his favorite superhero,” Michelle returned, earning a deep intake of breath from Law, “Lamia seems to be especially fascinated by your tools too, so I think she’s going to be your assistant in the future.”

The two remained in their intimate moment for a few seconds more, with Law kissing Michelle’s forehead, promising to protect everything they’ve worked for, before happy squeals reached their ears.

“They’re having a lot of fun with that small-replica of the Polar Tang,” she mused.

“When I left them, they were making it run over marine ships and going on an underwater adventure to Ryugu Kingdom,” Law related.

After sharing a private laugh, they went to dry their children, feeling like the luckiest parents throughout all the seas.

-> Tagging: @the-phoenix-and-the-witch, @conchasweetheart, @lariflames, @jazminetoad, @gabrielasalazar18, @undercoverweeeb, @simp4ace

[imagineredwood]

Summary: Bishop needs to wash your stuffie and you’re giving him a hard time about it, with the stuffie ending up as a casualty in the ensuing dispute.

No sexual content

Pairing: Bishop Losa x reader 

Warnings: Daddy kink. You’re a brat being bratty. Stuffie injuries, Tears and attitude lol  Everyone is an 18+ consenting adult.

Word count: 828

***Brought to you by: my panic in thinking that I had accidentally ripped off Sherbert’s tail only to find it was a cotton ball.***

“Give it back!”

Bishop sighed as you whined, trying to wrestle your stuffie from his hands.

“Baby, for the last time, it needs to be washed. I was supposed to wash it three days ago and you told me to let you keep it the rest of the weekend. I let you keep it for the weekend, but I have to wash it. Now let me have it.”

You said nothing but grumbled, fingers clutching the stuffie.

“It’s mine, Bish. I’m an adult. I can have a dirty stuffie if I want to.”

He looked at you, his eyes stern, but you did not budge.

“No, you’re not an adult, because if you were, you would be responsible enough to clean it the way you’re supposed to. So, since you can’t and you want to be acting like a child, I have to treat you like one.”

Bishop was not surprised by you pulling the I’m an adult card. You pulled that many times, especially when he was doing his job and making sure you followed rules. You had no issue with curling up in his lap, blanket wrapped up around you like a burrito and having him read you a story. You had no issue with him picking out your meals. You had no issue with him giving rewards. You were always a good girl when it came to that, but when it came to rules and punishments, suddenly you were grown and didn’t have to listen. You had ignored him about washing your stuffie in the morning, it was now night time and he told you that you’d have to pick another one to sleep with, as he wouldn’t allow you to sleep with one that needed washing. That was how all of this had started.

Now you both stood there next to the bed, Bishop holding the leg of the stuffie while you held the arm. He pulled toward him and you pulled toward you, neither of you ready to accept defeat.

“Baby…”

Bishop’s voice was stern now, a warning in his tone.

“Let. It. Go.”

You let out a small noise akin to a growl and yanked at the plush item. Bishop held fast though and next thing you knew, you stumbled nearly falling over, the arm of your stuffie in your hand completely separated from the rest of the body. You looked down at your hand holding the severed arm while Bishop looked at the rest of it, a deafening silence in the room. You could have heard a pin drop as your eyes slowly drifted up to meet each other’s. While Bishop’s were wide and laden with guilt, yours were quickly starting to fill to the brim with tears. He cursed and moved to you quickly, his voice hushed.

“It’s ok baby, it’s ok. I’m sorry. I’ll fix them, don’t worry.”

He tugged you with him to the living room, your socked feet padding on the floor and your sniffles the only sounds in the house. He sat you down on the couch and quickly made his way to the linen closet, grabbing the sewing kit.

He had sewn plenty of patches onto his kutte over the years, but he had yet to reattach the arm of a stuffie. There was a first time for everything though and he brought the kit over to the couch, sitting beside you and opening it.

“What color thread do you want? You can pick whatever.”

You knew that him letting you have a choice was simply damage control and you crossed your arms over your chest, eyes still red despite your now visibly tough exterior.

“Blue.”

He grabbed the brightly colored blue thread and quickly laced it through the needle, holding his hand out for the severed arm. You simply stared at him for seconds on end, not moving.

“Please, babygirl. I’m trying to fix it. Let Daddy fix it.”

You hesitated still for a moment more before uncrossing your arms and handing him the plush arm with a tattered end. He used his finger to stuff back any material hanging out and then got back to reattaching the arm, finger moving swiftly as he sewed, your eyes peering over his shoulder as he did.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`

“We have to wash it tomorrow, alright?”

You nodded as Bishop questioned you, cuddling the stuffie deep into your chest. He nodded and then gave a sigh, having a feeling that you may still give him problems no matter how much you were agreeing now. That could wait until tomorrow though, so he climbed into bed next to you and tugged you into his side. You rested your head on his shoulder and he leaned down to press a soft kiss into your hair.

“Sorry about their arm.”

You smiled gently, sleep already starting to creep up on you, and you snuggled into him just a little further.

“You can make it up to us with cupcakes for breakfast.”

SDOD taglist @justahopelessssromantic​ @dazzledamazon​ @lightinthedarkuniverse @emoengelfurleben​ @scribbuluswrites​ @woahitslucyylu​ @glimmerglittergirl​ @lunapiper @teamcardenas​ @robbosugdens​ @that-chick212​ @browngirldominion​ @dreamsxoxous​ @docsangel​ @rosabellablood​ @spiced-reads​ @claytoncardenasbabymama​ @weirdosandhopelessromantics​

[misiwrites]

Beyblade Week Day 4

i'm sorry i'm out here still posting things so late but here's my fourth and final 4kingdoms-verse oneshot for @beybladeweek2021, mostly this is late because i was out of town last week but these prompts were also the hardest to make a oneshot about, somehow i managed to make a quirky little story about max anyway.

this takes place probably somewhere right before the beginning of the main fic, or close to it anyways. and i feel like this needs the small explanation that 4kingdoms max looks a bit different because the north has no sunlight (don’t ask me how that works. it’s fantasy)

~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~

Fears / Animals / Winter

“Aaugh!”

As patient as Max is, the strange sound of Giancarlo’s sudden scream followed by a soft, barely audible thump of something hitting the floor in the walk-in closet is enough to snap his attention from the game console in his hands. He casts a curious look across his bedroom to witness the striped leg of a plush toy sticking out through the narrow crack of the closet door.

Now he can already tell what has happened. Regardless, he drops the game on the couch and jumps to his feet to see what his knight has gotten himself into in the closet.

“You opened the forbidden door!” Max gloats at Giancarlo, now standing ankle-deep in a sea of plush toys. “I told you the games are in the second from left, not from right.”

“Is this why you call that door ‘forbidden’?” Giancarlo asks, one hand still on the handle of the closet door that the avalanche of toys descended on him from. “I expected something more... I don’t know... scandalous... or personal.”

“This is personal. They’re all mine.” Max crouches over to pick one of the plush toys up, the yellow mascot character of a popular Eastern children’s game franchise. “Oh man, these take me back. I haven’t really seen them since Mama ordered them to be put away. She said I was too old to keep them in my bed. But I refused to have them taken out, so I got this closet for them instead.”

“Aha. I don’t mean to judge your decisions, but I think there’s a few too many for a closet of this size.”

“Well, they fit in just fine before you opened the door like an idiot.”

Max lets his eyes scan the colourful blast on the floor, admiring the chaos of all the scattered shapes of different stuffed creatures, some more nostalgic than others but each and every one so familiar to him; some expensive and store-bought, some hand-made by his father or someone else, he hardly even remembers at this point; it’s been so long since he was gifted these toys, and at least a couple of years since Judy wanted them sealed away.

And then one of them catches his eye over the rest, one that makes his heart skip a beat of bittersweet joy and longing. He tramples and kicks his way past other toys to get to the middle.

It’s a plush dog, one whose tattered, worn-out shape isn’t particularly distinguishable as a dog. It has an elongated body and small stubs for legs, folded ears – well, one ear, as the other has come off and been lost to time – and a small, thin tail that’s also on its way to come off its stitches but is barely hanging on, miserably drooping down from the back of the caramel brown animal that’s so thoroughly covered in dirt and dust that it looks grey. The dog’s black button eyes are intact, at least, and it still has a red little tongue sticking out of its mouth.

Max is momentarily frozen in place staring at the dog. This toy brings back so many memories, some of which threaten to turn his stomach as the long-forgotten anxiety rushes back in one tidal wave, it climbs up the ladder of his spine like an unwelcome visitor from the past; but at the same time, he loves this little dog so very dearly, his childhood favourite.

“Look at these, Your Highness!” Giancarlo suddenly yells, snapping Max out of his thoughts. “Really fitting, aren’t they? Doesn’t it make you think of something?”

Max turns to see his knight holding three plush animals on his arms: a snake, a fox, and a miniature horse. Max does remember all of them, but none were his favourites. They must have been gifts from his earlier childhood, he has no memory of actually getting them or ever feeling particularly attached to them.

“Umm,” he says, “no, not really.”

“Don’t you remember? The fairytale? A guy talks to a fox, a serpent, and a horse...”

“No, can’t say that rings any bells.”

“Really?” An idiotic grin spreads on Giancarlo’s face, the same one he flashes every time he gets to feel smarter than his young king. “It’s a traditional Northern folktale! Each animal represents one fear that the dude has, and he has to face them one by one. Well, I don’t really remember the details, but it was something like that.” He lifts the tiny horse closer to his face, as if to study it more closely – or to face it, to stay true to his own words, Max assumes. “Was the third one really a horse? I think it was. I guess horses can be scary to some people. They’re big animals and all.”

Max rolls his eyes, truly wishing that Giancarlo would shut up for once and clean up the mess he’s caused in the walk-in closet – or just do anything else and leave Max be, to sort out the sudden, fairly uncomfortable onslaught of memories caused by the discovery of his old stuffed dog toy.

Instead, Giancarlo keeps talking, as he always does.

“If there was a story about my fears, it would probably be... hmm... never eating cannoli ever again... and never going on another date...”

“Some incredible fears you have,” Max comments. “Tells a lot about your psyche.”

“And what are you scared of, Your Highness? What would you face if you met this guy? Nei-i-i-igh.” Giancarlo waves the tiny horse at Max, truthfully not the embodiment of terror by any stretch.

“Me? Well, nothing, really.”

“Come on, now, no need to be shy. You can tell the good old Gianni.”

“I mean it – I have my magic, so there’s no reason for me to be scared of anything.” There’s nothing that Max can think of that he wouldn’t be able to shield himself from with his magic powers, especially his ability to turn invisible. If nothing can catch him or do as much as touch him, what reason would he have to be afraid? If anything, he loves the thrill of almost being caught but disappearing out of sight on the last second. Max prides himself in being bold and resourceful, the master of stealth, and the youngest Genbu-ou with the ability to summon the holy beast of Genbu in the known history of his kingdom.

As long as he has his magic and the golden locket of Genbu around his neck, he cannot think of anything that could cause him fear; and as the king, he can have all the materia he could ever want, so he never needs to worry about running out of cannoli pastries or whatever else.

“Okay then, tough guy,” Giancarlo snorts. “And what’s that you got there?”

Max’s gaze returns to the dog on his arms. It stares back at him with its pitiful button eyes, black and lifeless.

“This used to be my favourite,” he replies, finding the words coming out of his mouth with slight hesitation. “Papa made it for me...”

“Oh? Prince Tarou knows how to sew stuffed animals? Well, I guess that makes sense, since he’s such a talented craftsman – but still... It’s hard to imagine a burly man like him making something like... that thing.” Giancarlo forces down an obvious cackle, raising a hand to his mouth to hide his amusement. “I mean...”

Max knows what he means, the puppy with a hot dog-like physique is a pathetic sight, but he cannot help feeling just a little insulted by Giancarlo laughing at it. This puppy brought him so much comfort during a time of turmoil, and it was specifically made by his father for that very purpose. Tarou most likely stitched it together over a single night all those years ago.

“You mean what?” he challenges the royal knight, his tone arrogant.

“Uh... Well, you know... Oh, never mind.”

* * * * * *

When he was younger, Max had no objections over his sheltered life in the Snow Glory Palace, as it never even occurred to his child’s mind that it could be anything but; and the thought only came to him as he entered the rebellious years of puberty and by the questionable ideas that his whimsical knight planted in his head, the thought that it would be exciting to sneak out of the palace every once in a while and wander around the royal capital out of sight.

Max has always been adored by commoners, as the only son of their beloved (by now former) king, the strong yet beautiful and hauntingly intelligent Mizuhara Judy, the only female Genbu-ou of their lifetime; and as much as Max loves the attention and savours the constant awareness of his status of importance that doesn’t escape anybody in his kingdom, he’s equally entertained by the idea of walking among all these people on a lower social ladder without their knowledge, freely entering spaces where his appearance would normally cause a considerable brouhaha. The complete control over whether he’s perceived or not gives him a great amount of satisfaction.

And, most importantly, his ever-so-predominant mother has no idea about it happening right under her nose. As much as Max loves his parents, like any teenager, he has an innate need to break free and seek independence from them, do as he pleases without their scrutiny, without any adult paying attention to him...

at least sometimes.

How many times has he traversed the narrow streets of the ancient royal capital, heard the snow crunch under his shoes without anyone seeing it’s the young king leaving a trail of footprints on the ground covered in white? And when the snow is quietly falling from the sky, the shield of magic around him reflects his surroundings, camouflaging him from other people’s line of sight, he blends perfectly into the arbitrary dance of the snowflakes in the dark.

Then, sometimes, when he finds a suitable corner or shade or hideout for himself, he plans a delicious little display of seemingly appearing out of nowhere into the spotlight. And all the attention is once again drawn to him.

It’s borderline addicting, that calculated spectacle, the thrill of a surprise and act of rebellion that Max is perfectly aware he’s not allowed to do. That his ice queen of a mother would be absolutely furious if she knew.

Now he’s again walking down a cobblestone street, the stone fence of a cemetery on his right-hand side. There’s a layer of powdery snow on the stone, like the icing of a sugar cake.

A cake, oh, a cake sounds excellent to him; and he’s now across a bridge, and the familiar sight of a cosy little coffee shop greets him some feet away. It has a sign outside, a metallic one, shaped like a kettle that’s hanging above the entrance, the shop’s name written on it in cursive.

Max walks over to one of the shop windows and takes a peek inside, bathes in the golden light coming from the other side of the glass. As expected, nobody pays him any attention, none of the people sitting around the lovely little tables inside see him.

He’s ready to be seen, however, and decides to step inside, greeted by the ring of a bell attached to the coffee shop’s door.

“Good evening!” he says cheerfully upon his entrance, flashing a wide grin to everyone in the shop.

People turn to stare at him. Nobody is smiling back at him.

“Er, good evening,” replies the person working behind the counter. Their voice is polite but wary, they stare at Max like everyone else in the shop, with an expression of wide-eyed confusion.

This is not what Max expected. Where are all the delightful gasps, all the “Oh, Your Highness!” and “It’s the young king!” and “This is such an honour!” – all the surprised smiles and the rush to be the first to shake hands with him? He darts some quizzical glances around the shop, eyebrows raised, but his grin remains.

Maybe he’s come here a few too many times. He should have gone somewhere new instead, not the closest place he could think of.

A bristly feeling that he’s very much not used to suddenly spreads all the way to the tips of his fingers and toes: embarrassment. He’s embarrassed that his magic trick failed, the trick he was so confident in, so proud of.

He needs to get out of here.

And the next moment, he’s walking down a different street, this time in the heart of the city of Resting Palace. The lights here are so bright that they illuminate the black sky and give it a hue of light purple instead, almost a dirty tone, it looks dusty and devours the stars and even the Moon.

He’s walking past numerous people, but nobody turns to look at him. Nobody does as much as grant him a smile of acknowledgment, no faces light up with recognition when he passes by.

He stops to stand in the middle of the street. Someone immediately bumps into him from behind.

“Oh, sorry,” the stranger says and hurries away without looking at him. He doesn’t even have the time to say it was his fault for stopping so abruptly.

Max turns on his heels, lets his eyes wander aimlessly in the scenery. There’s a hotel to his left. There are people everywhere, but none of them are looking his way.

Now another person bumps into him. This is an older man, staggering on his feet and visibly losing his balance for a moment, and he turns to stare at Max with a sullen face.

“Hey, kiddo,” the man groans, “stop blocking the walkway, will ya?”

Max only stares back, not knowing what to say or think. Kiddo? What is this? Why is this person talking to him like this? He’s so dumbfounded by this behaviour that he simply hangs his mouth open without making a sound. Nobody in his entire life has acted this way towards him, and it’s making his blood run cold under his heavy cloak.

On a bewildered whim, he suddenly turns to whoever is passing by his left-hand side on that very moment. “Did you hear how that person talked to me just now?” he asks the passer-by. “How dare he?”

The person he’s talking to casts him a look of utter confusion. He can immediately tell this person doesn’t recognise him, either.

“No, I’m sorry,” the person mumbles hastily and hurries away. Max stares after their disappearing back.

What is happening? What is happening? How could this possibly be happening to him? Now panic is seeping into his heart, he arbitrarily grabs the sleeve of whoever happens to pass by him next.

“Excuse me,” he says breathlessly, “you know who I am, right? Right?”

Another astonished stare, but at least this passer-by is polite. “No, I’m afraid I don’t. Are you perhaps lost?”

“No!” Max’s words now escape as a desperate eruption of discomfort, “I’m the king! The Genbu-ou! Don’t you recognise your king?!”

The stranger’s expression changes slightly – to that of pity, to Max’s horror.

“I’m sorry, boy, I don’t have time to play around with you,” the person says, and the next moment he’s gone.

Max spins around, glancing wildly in every direction, looking for anybody who recognises him. This is the royal capital, isn’t it? It definitely is, he knows the exact street he’s on, but for some reason nobody knows him, he’s only a mile away from the Snow Glory Palace and nobody knows that he’s the king, how could such a bizarre thing ever happen?

“I look like the Genbu-ou, don’t I?” he asks yet another stranger, this time a younger person, a teenager just like him.

The person stops to stare at him, evaluates him with her eyes for a moment, as if she has to think about it first.

“I guess you do,” she finally says, “a little. But Genbu-ousama has spots of black in his hair and skin as clear as snow.”

What? What?

Max drops down to his knees into the snow and now he’s on the riverbank; he hauls his shaking self closer to the aquamarine glow of the water, and he crouches over to look down at his own reflection on the surface.

His hair is yellow like the Sun, bare, the splashes of black brush strokes gone. But his face – his face is covered in something – small dots everywhere, his skin is infested with them, they spread from the centre, the bridge of his nose, in every direction on his skin, he lifts his hands to his face and—

* * *

He opens his eyes. The ceiling of his bedroom is covered in cotton candy clouds of pink and purple, they rotate ever so slowly around the axel of the chandelier in the middle, with stars blinking in and out through the veil.

He rolls over in the four-poster bed that feels like an entire ocean to him. The pillow under his head is wet, it feels gross and he grabs it with two tiny hands, tosses it away as hard as he can and it lands on the edge of the bed. It knocks a couple of his plush toys to the floor.

He can hear voices from behind the bedroom door. It’s Mama and Papa, they are yelling at each other again.

Max rubs his tear-stained eyes and crawls out of bed, wrapping his enormous blanket around him like a cape, he drags it along across the carpet as he makes his way to the door. He stands on tiptoes and opens the door as softly as he can.

He makes his way to the hallway’s railing just in time to see his parents walk into his view downstairs. They’re not yelling anymore but still arguing, in quiet voices now, Max can tell they are spewing arrows of poison at each other even if he can’t make out the words.

He’s staring through the narrow hole in the railing as Papa spots him, it’s probably a subtle sniffle that gives him away up there.

Seconds later, Papa has climbed the stairs and has knelt down to talk to Max in a voice that’s meant to be soothing but is seeping with recently suffocated agitation, and it makes him uneasy.

“Are you having trouble sleeping again, buddy?”

“I don’t want Papa to go away,” Max says, wiping his nose on the sleeve of his orange sleeping gown.

Papa gives him a lopsided smile, pats the top of his head. “I’ll come visit you often, I promise. And – this is only temporary, okay? I will keep talking to Mama, and maybe I’ll be back home in a couple of moons. Papa will bring you lots of presents then, but for starters...”

Now something appears from behind Papa’s back, he’s holding a plush toy dog that has a silly face with a tongue drooping out, its body so long that it nearly matches Max’s height. Papa hands it over to him.

“I made this for you, to help you sleep better. I call it Sleepy, but you can call it whatever you want.”

Max stares down at the dog’s face. It has plain black buttons for eyes, and a third one for a nose.

He presses his own little nose against the button, immediately smearing the dog in the snot and tears of a six-year-old.

“Take me with you, Papa,” he says, the words muffled against the dog’s snout. “Don’t leave me alone.”

“You won’t be alone, Max, Mama will be here.”

“She’s always working, she never pays attention to me.”

“That’s not true...”

“I don’t want to be alone, Papa.”

* * *

He opens his eyes. The ceiling of his bedroom is velvet blue, with the silver sickle of a crescent Moon glowing faintly in the night’s silence.

His heart is beating in an anxious rhythm inside his chest. He quickly sits up in the bed, driven by the panic of the lingering terror of his nightmare that makes his fingertips tingle and his stomach turn, and he gasps for air.

It was just a dream. Just a dream.

The momentary urge to rush to his feet, to check that he actually is who he’s supposed to be in the mirror, recedes quickly upon the realisation that he’s in his own bed, in the royal palace, exactly where he should be. He’s covered in sweat, the blankets feel uncomfortably sticky against his skin, he tosses them aside.

Then he notices three shapes in the darkness, sitting at the end of his bed. A row of three plush animals is staring at him from a distance.

A fox, a serpent, and a horse.

[lovelivingmydreams]

A story by Heroes and Vilains. Logan Anker: Allies

No man is an island. We all need others to rely on.

Previous chapters in masterpost

“You are sure I don’t have to compensate you for your trouble? Yesterday was only a few hours but…”

“Virgil is an absolute angel Logan. He is no trouble at all. You get to work,” Celine assured him.

Logan nodded and knelt down to look at Virgil.

“I have to go to work Virgil. But I will be back in the evening okay?” he asked calmly.

Virgil nodded, squeezing his Stitch tightly to his chest.

“If you need me, just ask for me okay? Promise?” Logan asked.

“Pwomise,” Virgil said as he stepped forward, putting his arms around Logan’s neck in a hug.

“Bye papa,” he said before letting go.

Logan smiled a little and ruffled Virgil’s hair. “Be a good boy okay?”

Virgil nodded again. Logan got up and left, forcing himself not to look back. He felt like he had more trouble with being apart from Virgil then the other way around. Which he supposed was a good sign. It meant Virgil was enjoying his time with the neighbors and that they were as nice as they seemed.

Thomas, as the dean of the college Logan would be teaching at, was of course the one to show him around campus. It was a pleasant work environment as far as Logan could tell.

Big open spaces, the lecture halls were well lit and had good airflow.

Not to mention state of the art educational material and…

“Oh, Thomas! There you are! I was looking for you all over, but then Talyn told me you were showing around a new professor and…” Logan looked up at the cheerful voice and his eyes found a freckled face holding two wide, innocently blue eyes. When their eyes locked the man cut of his rant.

“Oh… Hi,” the man smiled a little sheepishly.

Logan collected himself and approached the man to greet him. “Greetings. I am Logan Anker. I will be starting here next fall,” he explained.

“Patton Bonair! Very nice to meet you,” the man, Dr. Bonair shook his hand excitedly and while normally he would find that overwhelming or even annoying, there was such a pure sincere joy in his eyes that he could only classify the behavior as endearing.

“I teach moral philosophy. Just started last year not too long before our new dean here. We’re all so proud of Thomas for getting that position! He is young, but he is very fit for the job just you wait and see!”

Logan could appreciate Paton sticking up for Thomas. “Yes. Thomas and I met in high school and I had the pleasure of being his roommate in college. He is a very capable man. I trust him to make well informed decision in the faculty and the student body’s best interest,” Logan assured Patton in turn.

“Oh that’s so exciting!!!” Patton giggled. It was a rather pleasant sound.

“I bet you have tons of fun stories,” the other man winked.

Ah. “Nice try. But I will not be divulging such information,” Logan stated firmly.

“Aw, Logan! I knew you secretly cared.”

“I merely assumed that this would make for a mutual beneficial arrangement. I don’t reveal any personal information about you without your consent and you regard my private life with the same amount of respect,” Logan stressed. Not comfortable in showing any kind of fondness for his ally and friend. Not in front of a stranger. Not even if it was a very kind and cute stranger.

One who was watching the exchanged with a very sweet smile and now clapped his hands in excitement as the lights of an idea sparkled in his eyes.

“Why don’t you come over next Friday for movie night? You can get to know some more people and…”

“Apologies but I have prior commitments,” Logan stated before Patton got too worked up over the evening.

“Oh…” Patton deflated at that. “Well I’m sorry I didn’t…”

“Don’t take it personal Pat. Logan isn’t trying to get out of spending time with you. If he was he would just say he didn’t want to come. Trust me,” Thomas explained.

Logan nodded. “Indeed. Speaking of which I should get settled in. I wanted to call Virgil over my break,” he stated as he swiftly left the room.

Virgil was, from the sound of it, doing rather well in his absence. Logan assured him that he would be home soon before hanging up and getting ready to join Thomas in the basement.

Time to get settled into his role as a manufacturer of support items for heroes and a tutor for young heroes in training.

He donned his disguise and his new Shade glasses that cast a shadow over his face so that even someone who stood nose to nose with him wouldn’t be able to discern any facial features or the voice modifier he was wearing to make his voice more monotone and robotic.

He arrived in a conference room where Manifestor and one other person were waiting for him.

“Ah! Brain Storm! Let me introduce you to Sweets. He is an empath and will be assisting you in teaching any young heroes in training. Sweets you’ve probably heard of Brain Storm.”

Logan prepared for judgement and distrust… But that was not what he got.

“It is very nice to meet you,” Sweets stated warmly as he offered his hand. He seemed sincere.

Logan simply nodded. Distance was key. Sweets was clearly disappointed to find him unwilling to exchange more than the most basic of pleasantries. With his colleagues it was hard to escape. But down here, Thomas could explain his aversion to closeness of any kind.

He had a handle on his gift around Virgil. Having him as an emotional anchor actually helped prevent any flare ups even when he lost hold of his emotions.

Maybe he should discuss possible ways to extend this effect to his work environment in some way with Picani next week.

“Oh like a talisman? That sounds like an excellent idea Logan. I must say I am proud of you for making so much progress on your own!” Picani told him warmly.

“It would be nice if you could allow yourself to actually get along with your colleagues. Both as Logan and as Brainstorm,” he finished.

Logan wasn’t sure if he needed that. He did care about being able to actually express some excitement while giving lectures next semester. But he didn’t think any of his colleagues would really benefit from a friendship with him. He was already at his limit of social pleasantries when interacting with his helpful neighbors and he liked them well enough. Thomas wasn’t as exhausting since he knew all his edges and accepted them for what they were. People like Patton were better off never having to deal with those.

When he went to pick up Virgil that evening David opened the door with a smile.

“They are in the garden,” he told him as he led him to the backdoor.

He opened the door and both men looked around, trying to spot the boys.

When they found them though they saw Virgil curled up in a ball shaking with sobs as Janus tried to comfort his friend.

“Virgil!!!?” Logan called out as he rushed over. Virgil stiffened and tightened his hold of his legs.

Logan let himself fall to his knees. “What happened? Are you hurt?” he whispered in an attempt to soothe him with a softer tone of voice. Virgil didn’t respond.

Logan looked up to the other boy. “Janus? What happened here?” he asked desperately wanting to know what had happened to his son.

Janus bit his lip nervously and shook his head. “I don’t know…”

Well obviously that was a lie. “Janus… you are not in trouble. But you will be if you lie about this. Now what happened to Virgil?” he tried to stay calm but he was on his last nerve. The only reason why things weren’t exploding left and right was because he had his hands on his shaking son who he didn’t want to frighten any more.

Janus looked down. “Stitch,” he muttered.

Logan let out a sigh of relief and turned back to Virgil.

“Virgil… are you upset because your Stich got torn or dirty?” Logan guessed.

Virgil hiccupped and a faint move of his head seemed like a nod.

“Can I see him? Maybe I can repair the damage?” he suggested gently.

Virgil looked up tears and snot running down his face. On any other kid it would have undoubtedly repulsed Logan. But this was Virgil and so he only cared that his son was upset.

“Not mad?” he wondered.

Logan allowed a gentle smile. “Of course not. Accidents happen. I am just glad you aren’t hurt. Now let me see…”

Virgil let go of his legs and retrieved the plush from it’s hiding place against his stomach. A good chunk of the ear had come off. From the looks of it it would be easier to cut off the top bit and close the lower one up.

And Logan had an idea of how to soften the blow of the loss of stitch’s ear.

“I think I can do something about this. Let’s go home,” he told Virgil.

His son nodded and waved goodbye to his friend.

Once home Logan got to work. He cut and sewed and he dug in his desk for a surprise for Virgil.

He came back downstairs and handed Virgil the repaired doll. Virgil inspected the shorter ear for a minute and then nodded in approval. “Little, broken, good,” he murmured. Paraphrasing his favorite quote of his favorite movie.

“Indeed and look.” Logan showed the little pouch he’d made from the remains of the ear.

And then he opened the box he’d retrieved from his desk. Virgil’s eyes widened when he noticed it contained all the rocks and leaves and feathers he’d given Logan over the past month. All things that Virgil had considered valuable and so they meant the world to Logan.

“How about we pick out some things to bring with me tomorrow? To keep me safe?”

He was in the unique position where this wasn’t a lie to give the child some sense of control over the separation with their parental figure. This ‘talisman’ would help him keep himself grounded, to remind himself why he couldn’t make mistakes.

Virgil smiled and nodded and carefully selected the best treasures and put them on Logan’s palm, one after the other so he could put them in. Logan took as much care with his task as Virgil did.

“There. Now, how about dinner?”

“Okay Virgil, dad has to go now. You be good to Janus’ papa okay? I’ll see you tonight,” Logan promised as he finished off his daily check in call with his son.

“Bye, bye daddy! Luv you!” Logan felt his heart fill with warmth at that. “Love you too Virgil,” he said softly. Virgil had only recently started saying ‘I love you’, and he seemed to understand the weight of the words, if the look in his eyes every time he used them was anything to go by. Logan was not usually comfortable with voicing his feelings, not even to Virgil. But over the phone he felt less vulnerable and had an easier time returning the sentiment.

“Hi Logan. How are you settling in?”

Logan looked up and was rather happy to see Patton walk in.

He would be foolish not to acknowledge the butterflies in his stomach every time Patton entered a room. But he had no time for relationships, he was still getting used to being a father. Not to mention, he did not trust himself around others enough to even consider letting a stranger in that much. No Virgil had to be his priority and he was already going through enough changes as it was. Besides, who wanted to date a man with a two year old toddler?

“Patton. I am doing quite well. I feel like I am ready for the start of the year.” He gestured to his desk, which he had made his own. An old space themed mug to hold his pens, a clear box for notecards in case he needed to write himself reminders and of course a picture of Virgil taking a nap with his Stitch and his blanket.

“Oh! Who is that precious little angel!” Patton squealed pointing at the picture.

Logan couldn’t help a smile. “Virgil. My… My son,” he said. It was the first time he called Virgil that out loud and it filled him with a warm pride.

“Oh… That is Virgil… How old is he?” Patton wondered beaming at him in a way only Patton could make look sincere.

“Two. Though he’s only been my son for the past two months. He’s rather well behaved for his age.” Logan caught himself about to start boasting about his boy and smiled apologetically at Patton.

“You sound very happy to have him,” Patton pointed out.

“I am…. He is my entire world,” Logan confessed.

Logan kept going to see Picani once a week for about two years. He didn’t stop going after that. But he didn’t need the weekly sessions anymore and he preferred to spend that time with Virgil.

Teaching was every bit as fulfilling as he’d hoped it would be and his talisman worked without fail.

So far he had yet to be involved with any heroes in training. Keeping to developing exercises for civilian gifted, reviewing data and creating tech for sanctioned active heroes.

Virgil and Janus had made it through kindergarten together and had just begun elementary school.

And for whatever reason Virgil had decided  to start playing matchmaker. So Logan sat him down to explain homosexuality to him, in terms Virgil would understand.

“It isn’t funny Thomas,” Logan grumbled over lunch while his friend was figuratively dying of laughter.

“What isn’t funny?” Patton wondered as he joined them.

“Virgil tried to set Logan up with some random woman from the park and he decided now was a good time to…” Thomas stopped himself and looked at Logan questioningly.

“It is fine Thomas. I see no reason to keep this from Patton.” He turned to their kindhearted friend. If anyone was going to be accepting it’d be him right.

“I came out as gay to my son this weekend.” He then turned back to Thomas.

“And there is no point in hiding this from him. If we want the LGBTQ+ community to get normalized we have to start with treating it as normal in front of the children, wouldn’t you agree?”

Thomas thought of that for a moment and nodded. “Yes, I suppose you are right. Should I come out next time I see him then?” Thomas wondered.

“You can if you want to.”

Logan would come to regret that later. Because Virgil’s conclusion to that revelation was that he should get uncle Thomas to be his dad’s boyfriend.

Time just kept spinning out of control and before Logan knew it, Virgil was in middle school.

It wasn’t long before Virgil made a new friend there. He and Janus were spending a lot of time with a boy named Remus, as Logan came to understand. They never invited him over as far as he was aware, but he was with them often during recess.

Until one day at the start of seventh grade Virgil came home rather upset. Remus was pulled out of school due to a rather persistent bullying problem.

“Why didn’t you tell me about that Virgil? Me and Mr. and Mrs. Bullard we could have talked to the teachers and…”

“I thought you’d say I couldn’t be friends with him anymore…” Virgil admitted.

Logan was shocked by that reveal. “Why would I say that?” he asked dumbfounded. When had he ever given Virgil the idea he would prefer he abandon kids who needed a friend the most?

“You say I shouldn’t look for trouble and…”

Oh… Oh. Logan had very soon realized that his son had inherited his birthparent’s selfless and protective nature and he had feared that this would end up getting him in trouble.

So he’d tried to caution him against reckless behavior. This, however, seemed to have left a very wrong impression with his son. That was something he should talk about with Picani.

“Oh, Virgil. I didn’t mean I wanted you to turn away from people who need help. I just meant… Sometimes being brave, being a hero means knowing when you need to ask for help. Promise me that next time, you’ll let people help you okay?”

Virgil nodded and gave him a hug.

And then, not a week later…

“And then this boy pushed the mean kid away and he turned out to be Remus’ twin Roman!”

After that Roman was talked about a lot. Logan had a suspicion that his son had a small crush on the boy and he didn’t know how to feel.

“That is so adorable!” Patton squealed when Logan explained the situation. Logan didn’t know how it had happened exactly. But he often found himself turning to Patton when he sought advice on how to handle certain problems in raising Virgil.

“I’m not ready for him to have crushes though Patton. It is impossible. It feels like only yesterday he struggled to sleep without his blanket and now…” Now his blanket and worn out stitch plushy had gotten a more decorative spot in his son’s room.

How much longer before Logan became just as obsolete?

He gently squeezed the talisman to ground himself and keep his thoughts from spiraling.

“It’s a part of life Logie.” Patton and only Patton got away with calling him that. He didn’t have the heart to ask him to stop.

“But rest assured you will always be important to Virgil. You’re his dad. How can you not be?”

Logan relaxed at that. Right. At the end of the day, Virgil was his son, nothing could change that.

Not even the unforgiving sands of time that had Virgil come down the first day of summer before his freshman year of high school with dyed hair and a new hoodie, announcing himself as bisexual.

Logan felt happy that Virgil felt comfortable telling him this. But also a squeeze in his heart as he realized that once more his boy was growing up.

Virgil had started experimenting with make up a few weeks ago and it was clear he was setting up a shield against the world. Logan just feared that he’d end up being kept out by that shield as well.

4)Pupil

Masterlist

@moonlightshow00 @naturallyunstablegamer @alias290 @meowthefluffy @frida0043 @angelic-cali

[shadowthrone-ammanas]

In an effort to be a good dad, Snatcher learns to make a really durable doll for Hat Kid to use since she was upset about not having a body. (I love all your writing by the way! ^-^)

Thank you for the request! It ended up being a bit angstier than I’d thought it’d be. Also, it’s in the same timeline as the Guilt and Therapy drabbles. Though, this one, like Guilt, ended up not really being a drabble. I got a bit carried away.

Haunted

Despite being both legally a father for just over a full year now and a ghost for three hundred something years, Snatcher had no idea how to console Hat Kid. He’d never seen her cry anywhere even close to this much before. But he couldn’t blame her for doing so; dying was a very traumatic upsetting experience.

The people from her home planet had finally found her. Snatcher had killed all of them, not even bothering to snatch their souls he was so angry. But he’d arrived just a tad too late. He’d still been in the middle of his rampage when her ghost had formed meaning he hadn’t even been there to protect her from the sight of her own body lying in a pool of blood on the ground.

So now all he could do was hold her while she cried into his mane. It didn’t feel like enough though. But… what else could he possibly do?

Eventually he sobs started to peter out and then stop completely.  Her grip on his mane even loosened some.

“I’m sorry,” he said in a whisper. “I was too slow.” If he’d shown up on the scene even just a minute or two faster, he could’ve saved her. “I should’ve come sooner. I…”

“It’s not your fault,” she interrupted, letting go of him to move back and look up at him. “Don’t blame yourself, okay?” How was he supposed to do that? “But… you killed them, right? You made them pay for… for… doing that to me, right?”

“Of course, what do you think I am, kiddo? I don’t let people get away with hurting what’s mine, ever.” He’d set another part of the forest on fire while he was at it too but who cared? “And if any of them ever show up again, I’ll kill them too, okay?” He forced an evil smile for her.

She nodded as she wiped away the tears leaking from her now ghostly glowing eyes. “T-thank you. But uh… I… don’t want to be dead. I know you’re dead and so are all the Subconites so I shouldn’t complain but…”

“No, it’s fine. We’ve been dead a long time but we all remember what it’s like. It’s… rough.” And she was a child, making it so much worse. But a lot of the Subconites had been children when they’d died too – children seemed have a higher chance to turn into ghosts upon death, whether that was because it was extra tragic, tragic deaths being the most common deaths that led to ghosthood, or something to do with their souls was unknown, nor did it really matter. “You’ll get used to it eventually though… probably sooner than you think.”

Hat Kid made a soft whining sound in response, hanging her head.

“Is… is there anything I can do help you feel better?” Emotional things really weren’t something Snatcher knew much about even after going to therapy for half a year now.

“I… don’t know.”

“Uh… I could make you a body to possess. I did it for all the Subconites, it helped them some.”

Hat Kid perked up a bit. “Really?”

“Uh… yeah but… it won’t make you any more alive.” He needed to clarify that in case she got her hopes up. “It just makes you feel a bit better.” He’d tried it once himself, way back at the start, but he had too much power for a doll to hold, even a well-crafted one; it had completely disintegrated within an hour of him possessing it. He’d since just grown to prefer being a free-floating spirit. It wasn’t for everyone though, especially with how hard the initial transition to it was. So… “Does that sound good?”

“Uh… yeah, yes please. I want a body.” Hat Kid nodded, sniffling a little.

“All right. Give me a few days and I’ll make you one.” It wouldn’t be the same but her death already meant things would never be the same. They just had to adjust to this thing however best they could. She wasn’t gone and that’s what mattered most.

-

 At first he started knitting another doll much like the Subconites had except he planed to make it look a bit more like Hat Kid – since he only had to make one instead of hundreds, he could afford to spend more time on it and personalize it. But while he hadn’t had a choice in what to make the Subconites bodies out of since sewing and knitting had been his only relevant skills and he didn’t exactly have time to learn a whole new skill he could perhaps do so with Hat Kid’s doll.

The Subconites were made out of cloth and stuffing. Serviceable materials especially when laced with a little bit of magic but not very durable. They had to be careful about not getting too wet or too close to fire that wasn’t magical in nature. It meant they were the least dangerous things in the forest because they were literally plushies. He had the time to at least try to give Hat Kid something a bit more durable so… he should do it. What though?

It would still have to be a doll of some sort. Human shaped things were both easier and more comfortable to possess. Maybe he could try to carve a sturdy chunk of wood into the right shape, make it a bit like a puppet expect without the strings so it could move. Or maybe he could try to make her a body made of metal? Basically make her a Hat Kid shaped suit of armor to possess. That’d be nigh on indestructible. It was worth a try at least. If it failed, he could go back to the puppet idea. If that failed, a plush doll would have to do because it’d certainly be better than nothing.

 He spent all his free time with either Hat Kid, helping her through this difficult time as best his limited ability to handle emotional things would allow him to, or working on the suit of armor. As with most things, he had books on the subject to help him through the process – having a book on making plushies would’ve been so nice back when he had to make all those dolls for the Subconites but that had been before he’d started collecting books again. He had more control of his magic now too which also helped a lot.

The materials and tools he used to make it were stolen from Hat Kid’s ship or the wreckage of the ship the peck necks who’d hunted her down had used to come here. Working on it was actually a really good way to distract himself from how he could’ve and should’ve prevented her death. It also made him feel better about failing to protect because if this plan worked, almost nothing could ever hurt her ever again. … Ugh, the whole therapy nonsense was making him in tune with his emotions and motivations, gross.

Eventually the question had to come up though. “You… said you were making me a body,” Hat Kid asked one evening when he visited. “How’s that going?”

“Pretty good.” He couldn’t leave at that though, could he? He’d told it’d take a few days and he’d been working on it for about a week now. “I’m not making it quite like that Subconites’ bodies so it’s taking a little while. Sorry about that kiddo.”

Her face lit up with interest, good anything to help her feel less miserable. “Really? How is it different?”

“You’ll see,” he replied with a sly grin.

“Ah! But I want to know.”

“Nope, I ain’t going to tell you kiddo. It’s a surprise and no amount of ugly puppy dog eyes is going to change my mind.” Let her frustrated curiosity distract her for a bit. “I ain’t going to tell you when it’s going to be finished either.” Mostly because he didn’t know either. “That’s got to be a surprise too.”

“Hmmm… I’m real excited then. Thank you, you’re the best dad.”

He wasn’t and he never would be but… he was trying his best. That’s all anyone could ever ask of him, right?

-

 It took almost another whole week to finally finish it. It was… a suit of armor shaped like Hat Kid, the same height as when she’d died. The head had been the hardest but with a little magic and assistance from a Subconite who’d been a smith when alive, he’d gotten it about right.

Next, he sewed clothes for it. Just like Hat Kid’s normal outfit except the cape he made looked like the ones the Subconites wore. He even put her hat on it after making absolutely sure all the blood had been cleaned off. Now all that was left to do was check to make sure it wouldn’t fall to shambles when Hat Kid possessed it. It shouldn’t, it was human shaped and suits of armor were the second most possessed thing after dolls but it was still possible.

“Yo kid,” he said as he popped in on Hat Kid playing with some of the Subconites. “I got a surprise for you.”

Her face lit up with excitement. “Is it the doll you made for me?”

“Bingo! Let’s go.” He snapped as he transported them through his pocket dimension to the hidden room he’d been making the ‘doll’ in.

Hat Kid let out an audible gasp soon as she saw it. “Really?” She turned her head back to look at him. “For me?”

“No, I made it look like you and dressed it up like you for one of the Subconites. I’m just showing it to you to tease you and be mean.”

She giggled a little, a sound he hadn’t heard from her in what felt like ages now. “Okay uh… how do I do the thing?”

“Just go up to it and slide into it. It should come naturally to you once you’re in the right position.”

Hat Kid floated over to hover in front of and then around behind it. She tentatively placed her hands on it shoulders. She faded into it and a second a later it jerked to life as if taking a breath, yellow light suddenly pouring out of its eye sockets.

“Oh, this feels… weird but in a good way,” she said looking down at her hands and moving them around, flexing her fingers. “Oh and I have legs again.” She marched around in a little circle, clanking softly. “This is so cool! Thank you.” She turned back to face Snatcher. The metal face was weird to look at and the mouth couldn’t change from its soft smile but he could tell she was probably smiling internally wider than she had since before her death.

Snatcher allowed himself a small sigh of relief. It had worked and wasn’t falling apart and she was happy again. “It’s whatever,” he said, trying to wave it off as not a big deal because he didn’t want to talk about how hard he’d worked on it or why. Emotions weren’t his thing.

She wasn’t having that though. She ran over and hugged him tight. “I love you dad.”

He flinched. She’d never said that before, she’d implied it plenty of times but never outright said it. “Uh…” He patted her awkwardly on the top of her hat. “I uh… um…”

“It’s okay,” she said as she released him and stepped back. “You don’t have to say it. I know you do. You wouldn’t have made this for me if you hadn’t.”

Snatcher looked away. “Let’s uh… go show all the Subconites, huh? I’m sure they’ll love it.”

He brought them back to Subcon Village and moved back to let her run around and show everybody. It needed a good stress test anyway. So far it seemed he’d done a good job though.

For this drabble event.

[hrina]

Hanging by a Thread (Thank God for Sewing Needles II)

PAIRING: Harry/Y/N RATING: R WORD COUNT: 9.4k REQUESTED: yes!

hi everyone!!! i finished my last exam not even a week ago, and i’m so excited to start writing again! think of this sequel as me extending metaphorical olive branch, lmao 😘 i worked really hard on this piece, and im v happy with how it turned out! this little series honestly feels like my baby lol. as always, if u like it, please don’t hesitate to leave me some feedback! and here is where you can find the rest of my masterlist. enjoy! 💕

p.s. thank u to the ppl who acted as my betas!!! @yes-daddy-i-willl, @harryonstage and @smokeinherperfume i appreciate u sm! 

~*~

The past few months have probably been the best of Harry’s life.

Of course, he’s still got his challenges—snooty events filled with pretentious people, a mother who is just a bit too difficult to please, a schedule that leaves very little room for relaxation and leisure.

But all of that means nothing when he gets you to laugh at his corny jokes and stroke his cheek with delicate fingers. There have been negatives in his life, sure, but they’re greatly outweighed by the newly-offered benefits that accompanied his confession the night of the gala.

Benefits which he’s currently enjoying.

“Fuck, pet,” Harry groans, gripping your hips tightly as he drives into you from behind. Your skin slaps against his, and the obscene sound only adds to the growing fire in the pit of his stomach. His eyes rake up your naked body, from the round perk of your ass to where your fingers are fisting tightly at the silk sheets.

Harry’s pace nearly falters when he realizes just how many times he’d dreamt of having you like this: wrapped snugly around him, in his bed, moaning out his name like a prayer. He digs his fingers into the plushness of your hips, groaning low in his throat when the tip of his cock reaches even further inside of you. Your velvety walls flutter around him and you bury your face into the mattress, whining loudly.

“You’re so deep,” you choke out, subconsciously beginning to move in harmony with him. Each time he drills forward, you push back, and it makes a deep, guttural sound echo in the back of his throat.

“Fuckin’ love this cunt,” Harry swears, wrapping his arm around you so that he can cup your pussy; his fingers split apart around where you’re both joined, and he grinds the heel of his hand into your clit.

You squeal, trying to simultaneously escape the contact while pressing back against him. The both of you are ravenous, hot and sweaty. Harry drinks you in, running his free hand down your soft side, from your shoulder to your thigh. He doles out a quick, sharp spank to your ass, and you moan in affirmation, wiggling your backside to encourage him.

“Knew you’d like that,” he grins, giving in to your pleas. “Always did love it when I pushed you, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you pant, squeezing your eyes shut. Harry has stilled now, allowing you to control the pace at which his cock fucks into you. You work your hips along his length, purposely clenching around him and giggling innocently when he groans. His hands fly out to your waist, steadying you so that he doesn’t lose it and cum right then and there.

“That’s not fair,” he growls, pinching your skin in admonishment. “Don’t wanna nut off just yet, love. Want you to cum with me.”

“Keep doing what you’re doing, and I will,” you moan. 

Harry smiles, his fingers finding your clit once more; he rubs quick circles into the nub as he takes back control, beginning to pick up speed again. The wet sound of skin against skin grows louder with each thrust forward until it’s drowned out by your sharp gasp.

“That’s it,” Harry coaxes, watching with dark eyes as the muscles in your back tense up. “Cum for me, darling. Give me a good one.”

His words are enough to push you over the edge, and you cry out as your orgasm washes over you. Harry grunts animalistically, throwing his head back when your cunt spasms around his cock. The heavenly sensation sets him off as well, and he releases a string of creative curse words as his mouth pops open and his eyes flutter shut. The knot in his pelvis explodes, and he hunches over you as he shoots hot ropes of seed into the condom.

For the next few moments, there’s only heavy panting and the shuffling of limbs. And then you laugh quietly, lifting your head from the bed and gazing up at him with twinkling eyes.

“That was really good,” you murmur; your lips curl up into a small, satisfied smile. “Even better than last time, and I didn’t think that’d be possible.”

Harry chuckles, pulling out of you slowly with a devious grin. “I’m full of surprises.”

You snort and push yourself up onto your knees. Your thighs shake a bit—something that doesn’t go unnoticed by him—as you turn around to face him. He’s in the middle of peeling off the condom, but you slip your fingers beneath his chin, angling his face up. He’s sporting a lazy, post-coital smirk, and a light sheen of sweat is apparent on his forehead. Without saying anything, you lean in, capturing his lips in a soft kiss. He sighs happily.

“I’m going to go pee,” you tell him, mumbling the words against his mouth. “And then I wanna cuddle. Is that cool with you?”

“Very cool.” Harry nods, and you grin. You slide off the mattress, your knees quivering slightly as you take a step toward the washroom. Harry bites his bottom lip, watching the way your ass jiggles with the movement and trying to quell the barbaric voice in his head that spurs him on.

He shrugs to himself. Fuck it.

A moment later, you feel a sharp smack on your bum, and you shriek in surprise, your hands flying down to shield the abused skin.

“Hurry,” Harry teases, beaming stupidly when you turn to shoot him an affronted look. You cackle and quickly speed away before he gets the chance to deliver another blow.

~*~

“Christ, woman,” Harry utters, tipping his head back against the wall of the small closet.

He’s not quite sure what’s come over you; fifteen minutes ago, you’d both been joking around, bumping hips while you raced to see who could fry an egg the fastest. The kitchens of the palace were quiet, with all the staff having gone home for the night. Harry knew that nobody would be down in the basement at two in the morning, and that’s why he’d suggested a little competition.

But now, he’s here: trapped inside a small storage room with his hands wound in your hair and your lips wrapped around his cock.

He really doesn’t know how you both ended up here. He vaguely remembers you laughing victoriously, sliding your fried egg onto a free plate and sticking your tongue out at him as he pouted. You’d won, and you’d celebrated by switching off the burners on the stove and grabbing his hand, pulling him into the nearest secluded space before kissing him frantically.

And now your tongue is laving up his shaft and you’re giggling softly to yourself while he grunts in pained delight.

“You gonna cum soon?” you whisper, pulling off of his cock so that you can press a quick kiss to his hip bone. Your hand doesn’t cease its movements along his dick, continuing to stroke him languidly. Harry nods, his lips parting slightly as he feels his thighs tense in anticipation.

“Don’t stop,” he breathes, rubbing his thumb against your temple. 

You smirk slightly, opening your mouth and tapping the head of his cock a few times against your bottom lip. You stick your tongue out, dipping it into his slit, and then Harry’s groaning far too loudly as he comes undone. You catch every drop of his release, swallowing enthusiastically before pressing one last kiss to his tip and tucking him back into his pants.

Harry’s out of breath when you stand back up, and he watches with tired eyes as you purse your lips to hide a proud smile. You yelp quietly when he grabs your face in his hands and plants a passionate, bruising kiss onto your mouth. Your fingers wrap around his wrists to keep him close, and for the next minute or so (which then bleeds into the rest of the night), all he can think about is how hard he’s fallen for you.

~*~

“We’re going to freeze to death, Your Lavishness. I hope you know that.”

“As long as we’re together, right?”

You scoff and roll your eyes playfully while Harry just grins at you. Two towels and a few blankets are bundled up in his arms, and you’ve got an extra few coverings draped over your left shoulder. You walk side-by-side, trying to appear as casual as possible whilst strolling through the basement halls. Harry nods graciously whenever a staff member from the kitchen passes you by.

You finally reach that same little nook in the wall. Harry peers around, making sure that no one is watching before he ushers you through the narrow door. You cough quietly when you step into the dark, dusty stone corridor.

“Ever think about renovating?” you joke, fumbling for your cell phone so that you can illuminate the way. You jump slightly when Harry’s right hand falls to your hip, guiding you along. Your cheeks warm at the contact and you smile to yourself, grateful that he can’t see your face from where he’s following behind you.

When you both finally reach your destination, you don’t miss the chill that bites at your skin (but of course it’d be a bit cool; it’s nearly February, and there’s a massive hole in the ceiling of the cave).

“We’re going to freeze to death,” you repeat. Harry shakes his head and laughs quietly. He makes his way over to the small pond in the middle of the cavern, dropping all of the fabric in his arms onto the ground. You snicker and do the same. Together, you both splay out the blankets and towels so that you’ve got a massive covered space onto which you can settle down. Once you’re just about finished, you stand back up, placing your hands on your hips and observing your handiwork.

“’S good, I reckon,” Harry says, smiling up at you. You return his dopey expression before crossing your arms over your body and tugging your shirt up over your head. Once you’ve successfully freed yourself of the material, you glance shyly down at him and bite your lip to conceal a giddy grin.

His eyes have gone wide, and his jaw is locked tightly in place. You cock an eyebrow, shooting him an expectant look.

“I thought we were getting naked.”

“Bleedin’—,” Harry doesn’t finish his sentence, instead scrambling to his feet. His fingers fly to the first button on his shirt, and he makes quick work of undoing each clasp. You watch with excited, hungry eyes as the expensive white fabric falls to the ground.

The two of you remove the rest of your clothes, shedding your pants and undergarments frantically. You’ve just unclipped your bra when Harry stumbles over to you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pressing his lips to yours. You both giggle into each other’s mouths, nearly tripping over a fold in the blanket below your feet.

“C’mon,” Harry murmurs, gently flicking your chin with his index finger. “I’ve already got goosebumps.”

“How unfortunate,” you reply dryly. “Whose brilliant idea was it to go skinny dipping in the middle of January?”

“It was brilliant, wasn’t it?”

“Shut up.”

Harry grins boyishly at you before pinching his nose dramatically and leaping straight into the pond. Your jaw drops, and you dodge the droplets of water that have gone flying thanks to his theatrical display. Harry’s head appears from beneath the surface and he stands up, splaying out his arms as though he’s expecting some sort of praise. The water reaches just beneath his pectorals.

“How is it?” you ask nervously.

He shrugs his shoulders. “It’s actually fine, love. C’mon in.”

And he honestly doesn’t look cold or uncomfortable, so you take his word for it and jump in.

You soon realize that you’ve made a grave mistake.

“Holy fuck!” You shriek as soon as the water surrounds you. It’s freezing.

And Harry’s grinning.

“You dick!” you accuse, splashing him before wrapping your arms around yourself in a pathetic attempt to keep warm. “How did you manage to keep such a straight face?”

“It’s one of my many talents,” Harry replies smugly, and you scowl. You’re about to splash him again, but he quickly wraps his fingers around your forearms, stopping you before you succeed. “Smile for me,” he tells you, pressing his forehead against yours; he’s beaming like an idiot.

“Fuck you.”

“If you insist.”

You squeal with laughter when he grabs your thighs, wrapping them around his waist with ease. You’re still as frozen as ice, but Harry’s body heat is radiating off of his skin and lessening the chill.

“The water’s so cold,” you tell him, a mocking lilt infiltrating your words, “I’d be surprised if you were able to get it up.”

“Is that a challenge?” Harry asks, the corners of his mouth quirking up slightly. His eyes flick downward for only a moment, and he wiggles his brows at you. “’Cause you seem to be doing just fine.”  

You follow his gaze, only to find that he’s staring at where your nipples have hardened and pebbled from the low temperature. As if to prove his point, Harry pinches one of them softly, and you yelp, batting his hand away.

“My boobs aren’t the same as your dick!”

“Right about that, love.” Harry snickers. “They’re much, much better.”

“You’re—,” you break off when he ducks his head, beginning to pepper soft kisses to the skin of your neck. “You’re too cheeky for your own good.”

“But you like it,” Harry laughs hotly into your throat, squeezing you closer to his body. His lips are soft as they sponge pecks along your jawline, and you can’t stop the content sigh that escapes your mouth. You jolt slightly when you feel him begin to stiffen against your thigh, and your eyelids flutter shut.

“I’ll be damned,” you murmur, mostly to yourself. “You’re hard.”

~*~

When his sister had told him that there were ongoing preparations in the ballroom for the dinner, Harry hadn’t expected much. Perhaps a few members of the staff polishing the floors and dusting off the walls. He’d tried to wean more information from her, but Gemma had simply pursed her berry lips and shot him a look, as if telling him to go see for himself.

Once he pushes through the grand doors of the hall, however, he finds that his predictions had been very, very wrong.

There are several dozen employees milling around, setting up tables with crème-coloured sheets and sparkling silverware. Matching chairs are brought out and arranged in groups of eight around each placement. Harry looks to his right, watching as a team of individuals work together to roll out a velvet red carpet and smooth away any bumps and folds; the material spans from the very top of the staircase to about a quarter-way down the length of the room. There’s a tinkling sound from above, and Harry cranes his neck, his eyes going impossibly wide at the sight.

Oh, God.

They’ve brought out the good chandelier.

He hears a familiar laugh to his left, and his gaze falls on his mother, who is chatting casually with—of course—Marina.

“Mum!” Harry’s voice is uncharacteristically high as he makes a beeline in her direction. Anne catches sight of him and waves him over warmly, holding out her arms as he approaches.

“Hi, dear,” she says. “How are you?”

“I’m fine, thanks,” Harry rushes out, forcing a smile (though he’s pretty sure it resembles more of a grimace). “Hi, Marina,” he greets the other woman. 

Marina curtsies deeply, brushing her short black hair away from her face once she straightens back up. Today, she’s wearing a red dress with a slightly puffy petticoat and thick straps that rest on her shoulders. Naturally, her lips are painted the same shade of red, and when she beams happily at him, there’s that same smudge of lipstick on her teeth.

“Er,” Harry gnaws on the inside of his cheek, shuffling a bit awkwardly. He directs his next words to Marina. “Do you mind if I borrow my mum for a second?”

“Take your time.” She nods and curtsies yet again as she makes her exit, her short black heels clicking on the shiny floor.

Once she’s out of earshot, Harry turns to his mother, trying to decide how to properly articulate his thoughts. “Mum…,” he starts, but then his mind goes blank. Eventually, he sighs and regresses to the simplest question possible. “What’s all this?”

“What on Earth are you talking about?” Anne places a dainty hand on her chest as she laughs. Harry mimics her, though his chuckle is far less carefree, and he knows that he must look absolutely lost.

“I just—,” he gestures to the commotion around the ballroom, “Is this all for my birthday?”

“You only turn twenty-five once, love,” Anne smiles, one of her eyebrows kinking up amiably. “I just wanted this dinner to be special; plus, it’s only a few weeks away! I thought we could get a head start on the preparations.”

“And I appreciate that, I really do,” Harry says quickly. He reaches for his mother’s hand and gives it a light squeeze. “But don’t you think it’s all a bit…too much?”

“Nonsense,” Anne chuckles, placing her fingers on his biceps and giving his arms a few reassuring taps. “It’s your birthday, dear. And it’s quite the milestone, too. Won’t you give a poor mother the opportunity to arrange a nice dinner for her son?”

Harry smiles slightly, leaning in and kissing her cheek. “I’m sorry,” he says once he pulls back. “I��thank you for all of this. I’ll let you get back to it.”

She beams and nods. Harry returns her expression, but his chest is tight and there’s an anxious knot beginning to form in the pit of his stomach. He backs away from his mother, and his grin slides from his face as soon as he turns around. His feet carry him out of the ballroom quickly, and he pauses just outside the double doors to gather his thoughts.

She’s good.

Harry shakes his head, running his hands through his dark hair. He subconsciously begins to fiddle with a strand that curls right below his ear, twirling it around his index finger.

The dinner is going to take place in just over two weeks, and he still hasn’t told you how he truly feels about you.

A maid pushing a cart of cleaning supplies passes him, bowing her head dutifully in greeting. Harry does the same and tries for a smile, but it’s not sincere.

He’s pretty sure that he’s fucked, and unless he can come up with a quick yet effective solution, that’s how it’s going to stay.

~*~

When Harry phones you later that night, you’re hunched over your bathroom sink, scrubbing the remnants of a charcoal exfoliator from your face. You accept the call and immediately put it on speaker, squeezing your eyes shut and bending back down so that you don’t drip water onto the floor.

“Hey,” you say over the sound of the faucet. “Sorry, I’m just washing my face.”

“How very sophisticated of you.” Harry’s voice is deep and thick, as though he’s only minutes away from falling asleep. You laugh quietly and rub your palms over your cheeks one last time before turning off the sink and reaching for the small towelette next to you.

“Okay, I’m done,” you tell him, pressing the soft fabric against your skin to dry off. “How was your day?”

“Was alright,” Harry says simply, and though you can’t see him, you know he’s probably shrugging his shoulders. “Found out that Mum’s throwing a massive dinner for my birthday—I tried telling her that it was all too much but then she pulled the whole ‘it’s a milestone’ card.”

“It is a milestone.” You smirk, and Harry groans.

“Christ, you sound just like her.”

You giggle, wiping any excess water from your hands before chucking the small towel down onto the counter. “I think it’s nice that she wants to do this for you,” you say, reaching for your phone. “Before her diagnosis, my mother threw me a huge party for my twenty-first birthday. It was actually a lot of fun.” You smile fondly at the memory.

You make your way into your bedroom, tossing the device down onto the duvet and pulling your shorts down your legs. One of the straps of your tank top has slipped off of your shoulder, and you quickly yank it back up before tugging at the covers and sliding into bed. You set your cell phone onto the pillow next to your head before reaching over to flick off your lamp. A moment later, everything is dark.

“That sounds nice,” Harry replies; you can hear the smile in his voice.

“It was,” you agree. “My uncle’s turning fifty this year, and I’m pretty sure she’s already planning something big for him. She wants it to be a surprise, but I don’t know how well that’s going to turn out, considering she’s staying with him. It’s kind of hard to pull a fast one on your sibling when you’re both, like, living under the same roof.”

Harry snickers, and you bite your lip. “Sorry,” you tell him, squeezing your eyes shut. “I’m rambling.”

“No, no,” Harry says. “It’s okay, love, I don’t mind. How was your day?”

“Same old,” you hum. “But it wasn’t too hectic, which was nice. Although…,” you grin deviously, “I did get a call around noon asking if there was space for a very last-minute booking for tomorrow.”

Harry chuckles sheepishly. “I’m a bit of a procrastinator, alright?”

“Really? I hadn’t noticed.”

“Piss off.” He laughs, and you join in. After your giggles have trailed off into silence, he speaks again. “Can I take you out for ice cream tomorrow night? I can wait while you close up.”

“You won’t have to wait long,” you jest. “You’re my last appointment.”

“Really? Brilliant, then.”

You snort quietly, unable to stop a smile from curling along your lips. You turn onto your stomach, folding your arms over the pillow and settling your head down over your wrists. The screen of your phone has gone dark, but you still stare at it dreamily, wishing—more than anything—that you could have Harry laying here, instead. You can picture his boyish grin, his sparkling eyes, his messy hair. He’d probably want to cuddle and force you to spoon him, and you’d pretend to protest for a few moments before inevitably giving in.

“I miss you,” you say softly, the words hanging in the still air of your room. There’s a beat, followed by a second of shuffling on the other end of the line, and then Harry sighs.

“I miss you, too.”

You purse your lips.

“I just saw you a couple of days ago,” you say plainly. You’re trying to make light of your words, trying to disguise the painful pressure that’s suddenly formed in your chest. “It’s kind of stupid that I’m already missing you, isn’t it?”

“No,” Harry tells you. The sincerity in his voice is nearly tangible. “No, it’s not stupid at all. I promise.”

You nod, reaching back to pull the duvet up over your shoulders. Harry exhales quietly, and you close your eyes as you ask, “You tired?”

“A bit,” he purrs. “You?”

“Same.”

Harry hums faintly. “You should get to bed, darling. I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say, inhaling deeply. “Goodnight, Your Lavishness.”

He chuckles. “Goodnight, my love.”

~*~

“I really like this pattern on you.”

“Find it sexy, do you?”

“Honestly, yeah.”

Harry groans. “Don’t do this to me. Not here.”

You flash him a wicked grin, running your fingers up his thighs and batting your eyelashes innocently. You’re on your knees in front of him, and your behaviour isn’t making it any easier for him to keep himself in check. He’s fully aware of the handful of stoic men standing just outside the door, and as much as he would love to show you off, he’s decided that he wants your moans to be reserved for his ears only.

“We could be quick,” you murmur, hooking your thumb into the dip of one of his pockets. “I could be quick.”

“You’re killing me,” Harry says, grimacing dramatically. You giggle quietly, securing a sewing pin in place and pushing off from your knees. Harry holds out his hands and helps you stand, and you curtsy teasingly once you’re properly on your feet.

“Thank you, Your Lavishness.”

He just smiles, folding his thumb beneath your chin and guiding you into a long, sickly sweet kiss. You cup his cheeks in your hands and grin against his lips, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear with your pinky. Harry’s free hand falls to your hip, and he pinches your skin lightly over the material of your jeans. He laughs when you squeak and stiffen.

“Let’s go,” he tells you, peppering a few kisses to your forehead and along the bridge of your nose. “Gimme just a minute to get changed and then we’ll be on our way. I’m craving some of that cookie dough ice cream.”

You throw your head back and make a delighted sound. Your fingers run along the fabric of his lapels, tracing the design of vertical red and black stripes. “That’s the best one. Didn’t know I’d gotten myself a man of taste.”

“A man of impeccable taste,” Harry corrects. You snicker.

“Let’s not push it.”

~*~

“Oi, you had yours!” Harry lifts his ice cream cup out of reach when you try to jab your spoon into the cold treat. You laugh loudly, the sound echoing through the staircase of your apartment complex. Your place is located on the third floor, and you and Harry had both agreed to take the steps rather than the elevator (Harry’s telling himself that it’s because the pair of you need to work off the calories you’d just ingested, but in reality, he knows that it’s only because it allows him to spend a bit more time with you).

“I can’t help it!” You protest, grinning widely. “It was so good, I’m addicted now.”

“That sounds an awful lot like what you said after you first fell into bed with me.”

“Oh my God!”

“I’m joking, bleedin’ hell!” Harry races up the remaining few stairs while you chase him, swatting half-heartedly at his bum. You’re both in stitches and out of breath when you reach your door, and you fish your keys out from your purse while trying to curb your laughter.

Eventually, you manage to unlock the entrance. Harry’s still wheezing quietly when you tumble through the threshold and into the front hallway. You quickly remove your shoes and hang your purse and jacket against the wall before ushering him to do the same.

Your keys jangle when you set them down onto the kitchen counter. Harry takes a seat at the small island in the middle of your kitchen, placing his elbows onto the smooth surface and digging his spoon into what’s left of his ice cream.

“Want something to drink?” you ask, already beginning to rifle through your cabinets for glasses.

“Water’s fine, love,” he replies. “Thanks.”

“All that cookie dough got you thirsty?” You quip, shooting him a lopsided smirk. Harry chuckles when you slide a glass of water over to him. He picks it up and takes a hearty gulp before holding out the remainder of his dessert.

“Here,” he says. “Finish it off.”

“Are you serious?” Your face splits into a grin, and he can’t help but to return your happy expression. Your smile is just so goddamn contagious.

“I’m serious,” Harry affirms, laughing softly. “Take it, go on.”

You squeal joyfully, circling the island so that you can accept his offering and simultaneously press your lips to his. The action catches him a bit by surprise but he definitely isn’t complaining. You pull back slightly, littering small pecks against his Cupid’s bow and letting out dramatic smacking sounds with each kiss.

“You’re the best.”

“Am I?”

“Mm-hm. The finest man I’ve ever met.”

“Oi. Better stop that before I take you to bed,” Harry warns, feeling his cock give an admonitory twitch in his trousers. You simply smile, licking a scoop of ice cream off your spoon before flashing him a mischievous look.

“Is that a promise?”

Fifteen minutes later, you’re sat in his lap, your hips moving in slow undulations as his hands stroke up and down your back. Harry feels you shiver beneath his palms; his hands are a bit cold, contrasting dramatically with the warmth of your skin beneath your knitted sweater. You cup his face sweetly in your hands, your lips moving unhurriedly against his. He’s not sure if he wants to get you naked or if he wants to just stay like this, with his fingertips dancing along your skin and your satisfied sighs floating in the air.

“Do you wanna fuck?” you whisper, and Harry freezes, because…no.

He doesn’t.

He doesn’t want to fuck. He doesn’t want to make you cum and then pretend as though his feelings don’t run so much deeper than what’s been established. He wants to be able to whisper words of adoration against your skin and profess his feelings for you after the whole ordeal is over. He wants to tell you how much you mean to him. He wants to finally end a bloody phone call with, “Love you, bye.”

“Actually,” he grunts, his voice slightly hoarse. He places his palms on the cushions, pushing himself up a bit. “I was kind of hoping to first talk to you about something, if that’s alright.”

“Sure,” you reply easily, shrugging. You brush a strand of hair away from his forehead and poke the space where his dimple usually appears. “What’s up?”

“I told you about my mum throwing me that birthday dinner,” Harry starts, and you nod. “And I was just wondering…would—would you wanna go?”

“Okay,” you say, but Harry knows that the true intentions behind his request haven’t fully settled in.

“No,” he says slowly. “I mean…would you wanna go…as my date?”

You tense.

“As your date,” you repeat, as though checking to make sure you’ve heard him correctly. 

Harry nods, chewing on his bottom lip anxiously. You sigh quietly, sitting back a bit and running your fingers through your hair. The expression on your face is indecipherable, and Harry thinks that seeing you wear a mask of indifference is far worse than any amount of anger that could warp your features.

“Harry…,” you begin softly. Your eyes are sad, and he already knows where you’re going with this.

“You like me, don’t you?” He rushes out, nearly biting his tongue in his haste. When you hesitate, his heart drops into his stomach. “Don’t you?”

“I do,” you whisper; there are tears slowly gathering along your waterline. “I just—I don’t think I’m ready for that.”

“For what?” He questions, nearly begging. “How’s it any different than when I took you to the gala?”

He doesn’t understand. It suddenly feels like someone has set his whole world on fire, and he can’t do anything but watch as the flames mount higher and higher and burn everything to the ground.  

“It’s very different and you know it,” you say thickly. Air escapes from your mouth in a trembling exhale. 

Harry wants to argue, but he recognizes that you’re right. The circumstances aren’t the same. His intentions aren’t the same. And he knows that the potential repercussions won’t be the same, either.

“I’m not ready to be in the spotlight,” you elaborate; your voice wavers slightly. “I—I’ve seen how the world works, Harry. They’d tear me to shreds.”

“It’s none of their business, is it?” Harry tries again, reaching for your hips, but you quickly slide off of him and stand up. 

He watches as you step back, trying to put as much distance as you can between the two of you. It makes his chest ache, and he feels like he’s choking, his throat closing up when he tries to regulate his breathing.

“It’s not,” you agree, sniffling gently. “But that doesn’t stop them, does it? And what about your mother? Your sister?”

“Gemma loves you,” Harry implores. “C’mon, love, you know that.”

“And Anne?” Your laugh is hollow as you shake your head sadly. “I’m no idiot, Harry. I know that she’s got her own opinions, and I don’t think she’d be very happy to hear that you’re fooling around with someone like me.”

“What do you mean, someone like you? What—?”

“Someone normal! Someone average.”

“Average,” Harry echoes; the word tastes vile on his tongue. “Love, you’re—you’re anything but average.”

“That’s not how she’ll see it,” you tell him, hugging yourself tightly. 

Harry’s heart is pounding erratically beneath his ribs. He places his palms on his knees and stands up, hoping that the abrupt move won’t scare you away. He’s half-expecting you to take another step back, but his veins flood with a touch of relief when he sees that you’ve stayed rooted to the spot.

“You’re not average,” Harry insists, raking his fingers through his hair. “And I’m not just ‘fooling around’ with you, Y/N, I’m bloody in love with you!”

And then it’s there, out in the open, available for you to dissect and analyze as you please. Harry’s eyes widen slightly when he fully processes his words, but it’s too late. The syllables hang in the air like dusty cobwebs; Harry feels like they’ve been printed out onto a piece of parchment and taped onto his forehead. You’re staring at him with parted lips and terrified eyes, and when you choke on a sob he wants to punch himself in the face.

“Stop,” you croak, shaking your head and holding up your hand. “Please just—stop.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry says, but it feels like he’s underwater, the words wobbling from his lips and muffled in his ears. “I didn’t mean to—”

“No, I’m sorry,” you say, wiping at your wet cheeks with the back of your hand. “I just—I can’t do this right now. It’s not a good time.”

“Is everything alright?” Harry’s brows cinch together.

You wave off his concerns, trying to speak through your tears. “Everything’s fine. But I…I need some time alone right now, Harry. I’m sorry.”

He nods dejectedly, swallowing down the lump in his throat. 

“’Course,” he mumbles. He’s trying to hold in his own emotions, but his eyes are itching with sadness and humiliation. “I’ll go.”

“I’m sorry,” you repeat, a fresh wave of tears spilling over your waterline. You cover your mouth with your hand to keep your cries at bay as you watch him walk away. “I’m so sorry.”

Harry doesn’t respond, because he doesn’t have to; the sound of your front door opening and closing rings louder than anything that he could’ve ever said.

~*~

“Hey.”

Gemma knocks after she’s already opened the door, which Harry finds silly. He turns over so that he doesn’t have to face her, instead giving her a wonderful view of his back, which is covered in a periwinkle silk pajama top. He grunts softly as he pulls the duvet up his body, clutching the luxurious fabric to his chest and smothering the left side of his face into his pillow.

“Hey,” he croaks back.

Gemma bites her lip before deciding to take the plunge. She slips through the gap in the door before shutting it quietly.

“You weren’t at the brunch,” she states. “One of the duchesses asked about you, but Mum said you weren’t feeling well, so…I just wanted to check in.”

“I’m fine,” Harry mutters. “Thanks.”

Gemma hesitates before barrelling through, because she’s never been one to avoid a problem.

“Did something happen?” she asks gently. She knows better than to confront him with a hard tone, because her brother has always been a sensitive grump. When he gets like this, it’s very easy to say the wrong thing and have him close up quicker than a beartrap. So, she chooses her words carefully, speaking them with delicate prose and never pressuring him to answer. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“It’s nothing.” His reply is muffled and monosyllabic. She’s about to give up and leave, but then he adds, “Just did something stupid, that’s all.”

That’s a good sign, Gemma decides, and she presses subtly.

“I’m sorry things are hard right now,” she starts. “If you need to vent, I’m here.”

“It’s alright,” Harry shakes his head slightly. “Don’t wanna waste my breath. It’s been a week, and she’s not called, so I’d say it’s a lost cause.”

“‘She’?” Gemma questions, taking advantage of her brother’s small slip. “Are you talking about Y/N?”

The stiffening of Harry’s shoulders tells her everything she needs to know.

“Did something happen with her?” Gemma probes, digging deeper. She understands that she’s treading far too recklessly; if Harry’s worries are uncharted waters, she’s navigating with a flimsy paper sailboat. Still, she persists. “Is she alright?”

“She’s fine.” Harry sighs before adding, “Least, I think she is; I dunno. She’s refused to talk to me, hasn’t she?”

“H,” Gemma says quietly, closing her eyes and rubbing at her temples. “What did you do?”

“Nothing,” Harry grumbles, curling into himself, and his sister knows that he’s through with their conversation. “I’m done talking about this,” he states, as though he needs to drive home his point. Gemma steps back and nods, even though she knows that he can’t see her.

“Alright,” she concedes. “I’m sorry, I won’t pry.”

“It’s fine,” Harry replies, his voice low and scratchy. “Can you please tell Mum that I’m still feeling shitty?”

She nods, because it technically wouldn’t be a lie.

“H,” Gemma calls out once she’s got one hand on the doorknob. “I wouldn’t worry too much, you know. She really fancies you; I can tell.”

At that, Harry peers over his shoulder, gracing his sister with his side profile. His eyes are inquisitive, and his lips are pursed into a fine line as questions whirl around in his head. He eventually settles on the simplest query imaginable. “You knew?”

Gemma snorts. “Of course. You lot really aren’t too subtle with how you ogle each other.” She pauses for a moment. “Pretty sure Mum’s caught on, too, but you know her. She likes to wait for confirmation before jumping to any conclusions.”

“Mum knows?” Harry’s voice rises an octave; his sister shushes him.

“Relax,” she says, “She hasn’t thrown a fit about it—at least, not to my knowledge. You really are quite dense, aren’t you?”

“Piss off,” Harry grumbles, but—to her surprise—he doesn’t turn back around. In fact, Gemma thinks that she may have even seen the hint of a small, relieved smile pull at his lips. She nods soundly before pulling open his bedroom door.

“You can mope around for the rest of the day, but tomorrow I want to discuss with you the guestlist for your dinner.” She fixes him with an expectant glare. “I’m assuming you want me to leave Y/N’s name on it, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Harry echoes. There’s a hollowness to his voice, but also a hint of something else—gratitude, maybe. 

“Gem,” he speaks up quickly before she can disappear. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Gemma replies. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

And then she’s gone.

~*~

Your day starts off exactly how it had the day before…and the day before that…and the day before that.

You wake up and for the first minute or so, you’re blissfully oblivious. You stretch and squeak and sigh contentedly when your joints crack. The past few mornings have been unusually nice, and you relish in the sunlight that streams in from your window. The space beneath your blankets is warm, and you wiggle your toes to urge some feeling back into your feet. A few inches away, your phone is charging on your bedside table (you know that you’re not supposed to leave it plugged in for the entire night, but it’s easier that way).

And then the memories from a week ago come rushing back, and you feel like you’ve been punched in the gut.

I’m not just ‘fooling around’ with you, Y/N, I’m bloody in love with you!

You squeeze your eyes shut, groaning loudly and burying your face into your pillow. If you could somehow strangle yourself with your own two hands, you would. You deserve it, anyway, you think.

You remember the night before everything had crumbled, when you’d asked him over the phone if it was stupid that you were missing him after only a few days apart from each other. Even then, the pair of you had been messaging back and forth and clinging to some sort of communication. You hadn’t been truly prepared for what it would be like to not speak with him at all for a full week.

You despise it, though. That’s a given.

You roll out of bed and decide to take a quick shower before pulling on your clothes for the day. Under the warm spray of the water, you soap up your body and watch childishly as the white lather drips from your fingertips. You hate that it reminds you of the way Harry would constantly shake out his wet hair whenever you both crept away to go skinny dipping. After the first instance, you’d both agreed to make it a habit, and you’d stuck to the resolution with a worrying amount of willpower.

You shake your head free of the recollection, quickly rinsing off and shutting the water.

As you rifle through your closet, your eyes land on the red gown you’d worn to the gala all those months ago. You freeze, trying to compose yourself. The lump in your throat proves difficult to swallow but, nonetheless, you manage. With a gentle sigh, you tear your gaze away from the ruby-coloured fabric and settle on a plain white V-neck and a simple navy blue cardigan.

You’re in the middle of tugging your jeans up your legs when your phone chimes with a notification. Leaning over, you unlock the device, and you swear quietly upon discovering that it’s a reminder from your calendar.

One week until His Royal Lavishness’s birthday!

You’d added a few emojis after the exclamation point, and with each party hat, balloon, and crown that your eyes skim over, a new crack forms in your armour. You quickly swipe your thumb to the side and disregard the reminder, turning off your phone and clearing your throat when the screen goes black.

That’s enough of that.

~*~

You’re just pencilling in a follow-up appointment for your last client of the day when the small bell above the entrance of the shop jingles pleasantly.

“I’m so sorry,” you call out politely, keeping your gaze trained on your computer screen. “I’m about to close up for the evening.”

“Of course, dear.” The woman’s voice carries a delicate lilt, and your eyes widen in shock. “This will only take a minute.”

Anne is quite literally glowing when you meet her gaze. You stand abruptly and bow your head, feeling a warm flush creep up onto your cheeks. “Your Majesty,” you say quickly, feeling your heartbeat accelerate beneath the cage of your ribs. “Hi, hello. Good evening. How are you?”

You’re rambling, and you couldn’t be more embarrassed. Anne laughs softly.

“Enough of that, darling,” she tells you. “Come here. Give me a hug.”

“I—okay, sure.” You gnaw anxiously on your bottom lip as you slip out from behind your desk. She holds her arms out and flashes you a warm smile. Despite the tension in your shoulders, her embrace is calming, and you feel yourself relax in her hold. She smooths her palms up and down your back and tilts the two of you from side to side. You giggle.

“How can I help you?” you ask, glancing nervously as a handful of men pile into the store. They’re all wearing black suits and dark sunglasses, and a coiled wire hooks a small device into their right ears. Their faces are unreadable, but being around Harry so often, you’ve learned that they’re fully capable of cracking a joke or two when the situation allows for it.

You shake your head slightly, trying to eradicate all thoughts of Harry from your mind. Now isn’t the time.

“Just felt like paying you a short visit,” Anne answers, pulling back and staring at you with piercing green eyes. You try to avoid shifting uncomfortably under her gaze. Not only does it feel like she’s peeling back every layer of your being, but her irises are identical to those of her son.

“How’s your mum?” Anne continues, oblivious to your internal turmoil.

“She’s good,” you reply, nodding. “Doing better than ever. How are you? How’s your family?”

How’s Harry?

It’s the only thing you care about, the most pressing question on the tip of your tongue. But you clamp your mouth shut before the words can escape, reeling in your yearning and trying to keep a level head. If you were alone with her, you might have dared to ask. But standing in front of several resigned, apathetic—and frankly, intimidating—men, you feel far too naked already.

“I’m doing alright.” The queen’s lips quirk up into a small, clever smile. “I’ve got nothing to complain about, really. Gemma’s wonderful, but she says she misses you. Harry does, too.”

Your eyes drop to the floor and stay there; you’re too ashamed to meet her gaze. Anne notices your sudden apprehension—humiliation is written all over your face. She steps forward, her fingertips brushing your wrist before she sets a comforting hand onto your arm, just above the crook of your elbow.

“I’m not one hundred percent certain of what’s going on with you and my son,” she starts. Your heart plummets, and your shoulders tense up as she continues. “But I do know that you haven’t been coming around as much, recently. And—coincidentally—Harry hasn’t been in too much of a chipper mood these past several days.”

You gulp.

Anne holds up her hands in mock-surrender. “I know it’s none of my business,” she says gently. “But I…I would like to see the two of you on good terms again. You lot were quite precious, if I’m being honest.”

You laugh softly, but it feels like there’s an elephant sitting on your chest. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” She smiles. “And just know that you’re always welcome to attend Harry’s upcoming dinner, whether you want to or not. I hope to see you there.”

You flash her a small smile, gratitude and pain evident in your expression. Anne pulls you in for one more hug before bidding you goodbye, and you watch with stinging eyes and a tight throat as she exits the shop. The room suddenly feels impossibly tiny, and you glance quickly at the walls to make sure that they are, in fact, not closing in on you.

When the last of the queen’s guards slips outside, you’re left alone, standing in the middle of the small lobby and trying to keep yourself from falling apart.

~*~

Harry’s admiring himself in the massive, three-faced mirror in the corner of his bedroom when the door cracks open slowly. He watches through the reflection as Jeff pokes his head into the room while tightening the black tie around his neck.

“H,” he says gruffly, his expression unreadable. “You’ve got a visitor.”

Harry nods at him and leans in, skirting his thumb along the corner of his lips to make sure that there’s no excess lip balm gathering along the edges of his mouth. There’s a dull pain thrumming beneath his sternum, but it doesn’t worry him as much as it normally would. In fact, he’s pretty sure it’s one of the side effects of a broken heart.

He had been trusting that this past week would be easier without you, but his hopes were dashed quite rapidly. Everything reminded him of you.

He’d scrolled through his phone for hours, one night, reading over your previous conversations and trying not to let his tears drip onto the screen. He hasn’t even touched the playlists you’d previously shared with him, knowing that he’ll end up associating every song with some part of you. He’d lied to his mother about feeling sick for five days straight, but he’d finally called off the ruse when she’d declared that she was going to head into town herself and return with some medication. And he hasn’t been back down to your “spot” since the night everything went to shit, leaving the small cave abandoned and alone.

Harry sighs. He’s obviously no good at dealing with breakups.

Does this even count as a breakup?

He honestly doesn’t know.

He’s fiddling absentmindedly with the lapels of his pinstriped suit when a slight movement in the mirror catches his attention. His breathing stops, and his eyes grow unfeasibly wide as he watches someone step into the room.

Speak of the fucking devil.

“Hi,” you say quietly.

You’ve definitely achieved a perfect score with your outfit, decked out in a pretty black dress that reaches a few inches above the knee. The long sleeves are lacy and end right at the crook of your arm, leaving your shoulders bare. In one hand, you’re gripping a small silver clutch; in the other, there’s a bright yellow gift bag with blue tissue paper sticking out of the top. Harry watches you shuffle nervously in your black, strappy heels, his heart hammering wildly beneath his ribs. You’re gorgeous. You’re absolutely beautiful.

And you’re here.

“Hi,” he chokes out, meeting your gaze in the mirror. He quickly realizes, however, that he’d very much prefer to see the real thing, so he spins around and faces you properly. 

You approach him slowly, stopping when your bodies are only a few feet apart.

“How are you?” you ask, gnawing anxiously on your bottom lip. Harry opens his mouth to respond, but then you shake your head and squeeze your eyes shut, seeming to silently reprimand yourself. “Sorry. Stupid question.”

And then you’re thrusting out the hand that’s carrying the gift bag, the action robotic and abrupt. The sheer blue tissue paper crinkles with the movement, and for a few long seconds, it’s the only sound in the room.

“Happy birthday,” you whisper, the words feeble as they roll off of your tongue.

Harry clears his throat, tucking a curl behind his ear and gingerly taking the present from you. He tries to ignore the way his skin tingles knowingly when his fingers brush against yours. “Thank you,” he murmurs, gently toying with the edges of the bag.

“You can open it,” you tell him, and Harry’s worried that your lip is going to split open from how hard you’re biting down on the soft flesh. You continue, beginning to ramble. “I wasn’t really sure what to get you, because how do you shop for someone who’s already got everything, you know? So, I—,” you shrug, “I just figured I’d make it myself.”

He pulls the tissue paper to the side, fumbling for a fleeting second before his hand bumps into something soft. Harry grasps it and pulls it out, studying the object carefully.

Clutched in his fingers is a small throw pillow, no bigger than his hand. It’s rectangular in shape and ivory in colour, so pale that it’s almost white. Along the edges, you’ve carefully sewn a simple lace trim. And in the middle, embroidered in red, the word LOVED stands out in capital letters.

Harry stays silent, admiring your handiwork. It’s clear that you’ve dedicated a lot of time and effort into the cushion—each stitch is perfectly placed, and the needlework is meticulous and nothing short of impeccable. He runs his fingers along the lace border, marvelling at the softness of the material. There’s a lump in his throat, and try as he might, he can’t seem to swallow it down.

You take his silence as disappointment.

“I thought you might like it,” you say hastily, playing with the silver bracelet on your wrist. “I know you’ve got those pants with that same design—and you wear them all the time—so I just assumed…yeah.” You catch your breath, fixing him with a fretful look. “You hate it, right?”

“No,” Harry says immediately, his head snapping up. He stares into your eyes, shaking his head earnestly. “No, not at all. It’s—it’s incredible. Truly.”

“I just thought you should have something else,” you start, swallowing heavily. “Something else that reminds you of—of how loved you really are. Anne loves you; so does Gemma.” You inhale shakily. “And so do I.”

The little bit of air residing in Harry’s lungs is quickly lost when he processes your words. His breathing hitches quite audibly in his throat, and he studies you with intense, piercing eyes. You stare right back, and he finds nothing but sincerity beneath your gaze. He’s never seen you so vulnerable.

“You do?” he asks, but the question actually sounds like more of a statement. You nod vehemently—your eyes shine with unshed tears—and bless him with the confirmation that he needs to hear.

“I do.”

And then he’s kissing you, and you’re wrapping your arms around his neck and whimpering against his lips and trying to get as close to him as possible, and everything is perfect. Harry’s got your face in his hands, your mouths convening with a bruising force. He swallows down your soft cries of relief and fights to keep his own tucked away. Your fingertips dig into his back and you pull him in until there’s not enough room to slip even a piece of paper between your chests.

When you both finally break apart for a much-needed gulp of air, Harry presses his forehead to yours, squeezing his eyes shut. He’s trapped in his own head and then promptly wrenched from his thoughts when he realizes that you’re speaking.

“I’m so sorry,” you’re prattling; he doesn’t miss the crack in your voice. “I just—I needed to think. I’m sorry it took so long; it’ll never happen again—”

“Shh.” He soothes you, stroking your cheekbones with his thumbs. “It’s alright, love, I promise.” He shakes his head, chuckling in disbelief. “God, I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” you confess, playing inattentively with his hair. You reach up to wipe a smear of lipstick from his mouth. The plum colour stands out against his pink lips, and he nips teasingly at the pad of your finger, making you giggle softly. A long beat of silence ensues, and neither of you bother to break it, basking in the solace of the other’s proximity.

Eventually, you’re the first to speak up, but your voice is gentle, as though you don’t want to disrupt the serenity in the room.

“Thanks for leaving my name on the guestlist, by the way,” you murmur. “I would’ve looked really stupid, otherwise, just standing outside with a gift bag and this whole speech ready to go along with it.”

He snickers, shaking his head. “Was praying you’d show up. Last hope and all.”

“I’m here,” you tell him, squeezing his shoulders. His warm breath fans out onto your chin—a gentle reminder that he’s here too—and you sigh in delight. “You look so handsome.”

Harry can’t keep the smile off of his face. “Thank you. I’ll give your regards to the tailoress, yeah?”

You chuckle bashfully.

“You look absolutely magnificent,” he continues, his words keen and ardent. “Took my breath away the second you walked in. Can’t believe you’re mine.”

“I am.” You nod, pulling back and gazing up at him with heartfelt eyes. His palms find your cheeks again, and he feels your jaw move beneath his touch as you speak. “I love you, Your Lavishness. I’m yours.”

And Harry really doesn’t know how to convey his newfound joy, so he just kisses you again.

 ~*~

[feedback] [masterlist]

if you’re enjoying this series so far, please consider donating to my ko-fi! thank you bunches <3

[ikemenfics]

The Game

HAHA, YOU ALL LOST.  Happy Birthday, Mitsuhide.

Word Count:  3343 

Can you beat the Silver Fox of Azuchi at his own game?  Or do you make your own?  Based off his birthday event, Mitsuhide has asked you that you pay him back for all his teasing of you.  But is that really such a good idea, Mitsu?  MC is based more on a person like me...who couldn’t think possibly of a way to mess with someone the way he does…

(Now...what am I supposed to do with that??!)  You stared at the smirking fox.  Your insides were buzzing with nervous flustering and you weren’t sure you were going to survive this challenge of his.  (Honestly...this man...th-this...FOX)

And still he stared while your mental faculties fired in a panicked uproar.  (Is this what Sasuke feels like when he’s meeting with Ieyasu?)  You were certain your synapses were frying as a comet of energy was spelling out your imminent doom.

Snowy lashes lowered but his smile never changed, “Now.  I shall leave you.  I look forward to your results.”  And before you could even think to respond in kind, he was gone.  (Oh lord...what do I do?)  You found yourself moseying back to the castle, unaware that your visage reflected all the abject horror of your intended task.

“Dummy, what do you look so afraid of?”  You glanced up, finding green staring at you from a puff of fluffy blond locks, “Your face looks like Wasabi’s when she hears even the slightest sounds.”  His complaint was not lost on you.  (I do NOT look like a deer in headlights….do I?)

“What did you see?”  Hideyoshi’s voice was all concern, his hand already moving to his sword, staring at the offending whatever behind you.  “I’ll make the call to search the perimeter.  What did the intruder look like?” 

“N-no...nothing like that,” you waved your hands, feeling entirely too silly now that you got the concern of Azuchi’s mother warlord over something so silly as teasing Mitsuhide, “It’s just…”

“...Just…?” Hideyoshi prodded, his brows knit in a way that meant that someone was probably getting cuffed later.  That someone probably already smirking in the knowledge that said cuffing is most likely coming for him.  You started to feel bad for the slickest man in the Sengoku.  (this is why I can’t tease him…)

“Hey, Hideyoshi and Ieyasu,” you started, clapping your hands together in a pleading gesture, “what kinds of things does Mitsuhide dislike?”

“THAT’s what your stupid expression is for?”  Ieyasu was incredulous, at best.  You tried to smile, explaining that Mitsuhide’s birthday was coming and the challenge that he’d given you for his birthday wish.

“I’m not sure that guy dislikes anything,” Hideyoshi said, his profile still all one hundred percent seriousness.  His statement was followed by a muttered, “Except, maybe, honesty…”

You deflated.  It truly seemed you were given the impossible task.  You thanked that warlords, assuring Hideyoshi once more that nothing was amiss, save Mitsuhide’s birthday.

(I could feed him something bitter...oh wait...he doesn’t have taste buds, really.  I could make him a gaudy outfit...then again, he’d probably wear it and tell everyone just who made it...my Sengoku career would be ruined…) You ticked off and promptly shot down every idea that hit your head as you walked.  (If I could get close enough, I have hair chalk to turn his hair pink...IF I could get close enough...Maybe slip something into his sake, like he does Masamune?.....No, he’d catch on to that too quickly and turn it on me…)

You were still thinking when something warm and both soft and hard met your nose.  “Hey kitten,” the owner of the soft, warm, and also hard body all but purred at you, “keep walking like that and you’re going to have a very short life.”

Lifting your head, you were met with one amused sapphire eye.  Apologizing, you stepped back, Masamune making no move to put additional space between the two of you.  Instead, he grinned at you, “What’s got our lass looking so far away for?  Is he any good?”

You tried to ignore that, but your ears burned with heat anyway.  You looked away, attempting to compose yourself, “Hey, Masamune,” you finally muttered a greeting.

“Yo,” came the reply.  You glanced again, Masamune still smiling as if the world were little more than the greatest roller coaster ride.  “So, what’s got you looking the way my soldiers do when they’re about to spar against me?”

When you told him of Mitsuhide’s birthday wish, he laughed.  You were probably sure people in the town heard the volume of his mirth at your predicament.  (Thanks for the vote of confidence, my dude.)

“Sorry, sorry,” his apology was filled with barely controlled chuckles.  Your cheeks were so hot you were sure you could scorch something with them.  “Getting that guy is gonna be hard.  But I like this idea.  Whatcha got in mind, kitten?”

Now, there was the caveat, “Um...I can’t think of anything.  Is there anything he dislikes?”

“Yeah,” Masamune all but snorted, his eye full of amused concern for his fellow warlord, “his health.” “...I don’t think I can work with that…” you laughed back.

Masamune adjusted his pose, his mug taking on a look of contemplation, “I think the only thing Mitsuhide probably dislikes is being beaten at his own game…” Masamune commented.  

(Of course.  Now, let’s find out how to tackle such a task, mm?)  You chose not to say that out loud.

“Think he’d go for a sword fight?  I bet I could take him,” Masamune was busy musing away.

“You could,” you pointed out, “But I’m the one that’s supposed to be trying to beat him.”

“Hmm,” Masamune seemed to analyze you, “good point, lass.  But I’ll admit I’d pay to see you take him on.”

He reached, patting your head before walking away, “Whatever you come up with, kitten, will be good.  I’m sure he’ll appreciate anything you give him for his birthday.”  And with that cryptic statement, the whirlwind known as the One-Eyed Dragon had disappeared.

You sighed and went to your room.  Maybe you could make him a consolation haori if you couldn’t think of anything else.  You went fishing for your sewing notions, suddenly wishing you had the plush fabric you used to make Bearsace.  You searched your bag, looking for the picture you’d taken of the masterpiece, Nobunaga having taken the original.  Your hands found a rectangular object and you pulled it out, surprised when you found yourself staring at a package of sweets.

Your mind traveled 500 years into the future where this biscuit treat originated.  Recalling how people used them for everything from alternate candy cigarettes to cute romantic games.  You smiled at the nostalgia the oblong box had given you.  You remembered young couples, sneaking each other little moments of PDA using the little sticks.

(The Pocky Game….OMG THAT’S IT!) 

You hugged the precious pink box to your chest, elated that you had it.  Mitsuhide would never see it coming…(or he probably will but that’s not going to stop me!  Ok, but how are we gonna do that?  You gonna assault him?  That’ll be the day)  A deviant smile appeared as proverbial horns grew from your head (No...I’m gonna do this…)

“You realize every year Hideyoshi does the same and he never attends,” cinnamon orbs stared at you and you did everything you could not to shuffle while they bored holes into you, “what makes you think this will be different?  Because you’re doing it?”

“No...because…” you did your best to show a placating smile, “you’re going to?”

“Oh?”  his brow arched and you thought to yourself just how handsome the Fool of Owari was.  Too bad a fox snatched you a long time ago.  “I gather you have some sort of plan for this occasion that I’m not yet aware of?”

You told him your idea.  Of everyone in this era, only Nobunaga was privy to the details of where you came from and how you ended up in this wartorn era.  You discussed what Pocky was and the game that you could play with the cookie-esque treat.  You even showed him the unopened box so he could see the confectionary in question.

He smiled, The Devil King’s horns probably matching your own.  “Hoh, I think I like this idea.  BUT…” his features turned serious and your heart nearly dropped into the floor, “I demand these pocky as payment”

(WHAT, NO!) You panicked, “B-but!  I need them for the game!”

Nobunaga smirked, looking boyish and you were sure many a maid and warrior fell for it every single time, “But you only need one, right?  For the game, you said?  Did I hear wrong?”

The question set off warning bells in your head, “N-no…” you conceded to the first unifier, “But if you take them, I won’t have them for the party…” you tried to argue.  You already knew at this point, trying to win over Oda Nobunaga was futile, but dammit you needed this for your plan!

“Don’t worry about that, fireracker,” the man assured, raising the box in what could only be called schadenfreude which made you very very worried, “you’ll have your game with Mitsuhide.  I will handle everything.  You may go.”

You stepped out, your mind reeling.  It was great that Mitsuhide’s lord was on your side, but what did that devil man plan to do?  (How is it that I went to the devil for the sake of outsmarting the fox?)  Alas, there was nothing you could do for the moment but wait and see what Nobunaga had in store for Mitsuhide’s special event.

The answer came in the form of a missive the day of Mitsuhide’s birthday.  You read it, almost cackling at the contents, “Ok sir.”

You found the birthday boy walking the halls, “Mitsuhide, can you come with me?”

He arched his brow but agreed to come.  You were sure by the look on his face that he was expecting some great prank.  What he got instead…

“SURPRISE!”

“I was misinformed of a war council today,” Mitsuhide was saying, his body already moving to excuse himself.

“NOT SO FAST,” you cried, holding up the weapon Nobunaga had given you.  “Today, Akechi Mitsuhide, I am determined to make you stay and enjoy your birthday.  As chatelaine, I have that authority.”  You beamed in triumph.

The celebration went by, Masamune serving food and Hideyoshi trying to control the sweets intake.  People chatted and drink flowed.  And yet…

Mitsuhide sat in his own lonely place, quietly taking in his sake.  (Well, we can’t be having that!)  You were about to move towards him when you remembered, (oh yeah...Nobunaga took my coup de grâce)  Your gaze traveled to the red gems, only to find they were watching you too.  As if on some unspoken cue, Nobunaga called for you, “Come, chatelaine, pour me a drink!”  

You took your place next to Nobunaga, pouring him some sake.  You dared a glance at the hall, finding golden eyes watching you.  Your heart sank at that, knowing that despite your plan to get him to enjoy his birthday and give him a special piece of your world, that Nobunaga’s command sadly had to come first.  

“Look at him. Notice he’s watched you all night?” Nobunaga was murmuring, his voice and countenance every inch the warlord he was.  You didn’t dare look at Mitsuhide again, but you shook your head anyway, noting that his mask was always unreadable to you.  Nobunaga huffed, “He always watches people, but he’s never so obvious about it.  I would know, he’s been with me for a long time.”  You glanced at the Lord of Azuchi, wondering what he was getting at.  

He slipped something out of his robes, a pink frosted stick was then placed between his lips as he looked at you.  (Oh no….nonononono...that was meant for him.  Mayday mayday) Your eyes widened at the man as he ridiculously smirked around the stick.

“Let’s see about this game of yours,” Nobunaga looked at you expectantly and you had to work really hard not to let the pricks in your vision lead to actual tears.  You leaned forward, nipping a small piece of the pocky, your eyes never leaving his all to smug ones.  You took a second nip, then a third, almost to his lips.

“Nobunaga-sama!” Hideyoshi cried.  (Is it bad I’m disappointed it’s him that stopped this?  Though...I *am* glad it stopped…) You and Nobu turned, a tiny bit of pocky still sticking out of his mouth.  “I know that’s a sweet.  Please, my lord, your health…” You felt so bad for the poor man always having to worry over everyone.  (It’s likened to being the mother of five unruly children.)

“How do you know it’s a sweet, Hideyoshi?” Came the challenging question.

Hideyoshi blanched, “Mitsuhide mentioned it.  He lied, didn’t he?  That son of a-”

“He’s not wrong,” Nobunaga was saying, the final bit of the baked good disappearing as he chewed thoughtfully.  “Though, konpeito is sweeter.  This wasn’t so bad.”  His eyes found yours while butterflies did a number in your stomach, “I thank you for these.  Your payment.”  He handed you a singular stick and you took it with numb fingers, nodding to the man.  “I believe a certain someone is waiting.”

With that, you strode towards the someone in question.  You didn’t dare look up while you walked, unsure you wanted to see what Mitsuhide’s face might say.  You sat next to the silver fox, staring far too hard at the cup set that had mysteriously appeared.  (Why does he have two cups if he’s drinking alone?)

“Little seamstress,” he voice brought you out of your reverie, “if you stare any harder at the china, I will have to replace it.  Hideyoshi will throw a fuss.  It’ll be quite amusing, but I fear for anything else you might set that scary look on.”

You looked up, finding Mitsuhide uncharacteristically serious.  The man who could always smile was definitely not smiling at you.  Your heart hammered as you were struck dumb by what you were seeing.

The look was gone, the familiar smile settling in its place before you could even attempt to analyze it, “It is evening and my birthday is near over, Princess.”  His grin turned what you considered deadly when given to his enemies and yet your cheeks heated all the same.  “Where’s my birthday gift, hmm?  Or was your game with my lord my gift?  I admit, it was something to watch.”

(SHAAAAAAME) Your mind called and your hands shook.  (Now or never…) You tried to smile, sure you looked more like, how did Ieyasu put it, like Wasabi hearing uncertain noises?  You shook your head, denying Mitsuhide’s claim, “No…” you breathed, constricting lungs making normal speech impossible at this point, “my gift is...this!”

You stuck the stick in your mouth and all but dove for the man.  Your lips pushing the other end of the pocky into his with the force of your movements.  He own did open, which made you thankful (This would have been horrid if he didn’t open his mouth and the stick broke) but teeth had you stopping before the poor game could continue and you choked the poor guy (That’s ok...I can play this game too).

You pressed your advantage, taking bites all down the stick until warm wetness met your lips.  They didn’t return your kiss but you stayed there, just enjoying the feel of him.  Your world narrowed to the man in front of you so you didn’t hear the cheers that erupted in your moment.  You were sure you’d probably have died if you did. Eventually, though, you had to back away, sneaking in a glance to the Warlord of the Bellflower.  

His appearance...was not amused.  You winced, lowering your head.  (Did I go too far?  I should say something).  You were about to apologize when you were swept up by a nighttime storm.  “Ey, lass!”  Masamune cheered, pulling you to him, “Interesting game.  Wanna play with me?”  You hesitated, shaking your head, explaining you had no more sticks.  Masamune considered, “I’ll swipe one.  Gimme a minute.”

“You will not!”  Hideyoshi called and a cacophony of noise arose as warlords discussed your game, you kissing Mitsuhide, commentary on Mitsuhide’s mien, and Mitsuhide did seem to be a lot happier with you around.  Your whole body was surely scarlet at how the subject jumped from Masamune wanting to steal you away to suddenly Mitsuhide looking like a happier man.

You tried to look over to him, finding his spot empty.  (Where did…?)  You untangled yourself from Flirty McEyepatch and slipped out of the party.  You didn’t see where he’d gone and it took some wandering, but you found him outside, staring at the autumn leaves.

“Mitsuhide…” you called, feeling unsure.  His head turned towards yours, his expression careful and unreadable.  You approached, standing next to him.  The silence was awkward, so you turned your gaze towards the leaves, “The leaves finished turning…” you said.

“They are more vibrant,” came the reply.  You stood and just viewed the trees, the chill wind kicking up sparks of red and yellow to dance.

“I’m sorry,” you said after a moment.  “I’d thought a game like that would be perfect for you…” Thinking back, you decided that it had been silly and pushed boundaries.  Something you shouldn’t have done.  “I hadn’t meant to-”

Mitsuhide’s fingers pressed to your lips, making your words die before they could be uttered.  You flushed, looking up into topaz crystals.  Mitsuhide’s portrait had taken an intense edge to it, but you still couldn’t quite read what it was saying.  His thumb trailed across your mouth, making you whimper involuntarily.

“Congratulations,” Mitsuhide murmured, his voice blank and controlled, “I must say I did not expect that.”

His nail scraped over your already swollen bottom lip, drawing another low sound from you.  His facade didn’t change as his finger teased at you, almost as if he were experimenting with your reactions to the stimuli he’d placed on you.  You pursed, attempting to kiss the offending appendage, only for him to change tactics, his fingers not leaving your mouth, just you unable to snag him.

“I fell for your trap, little mouse,” he was quiet, but his voice held a low note of something you were too afraid to identify, “but what had you done if I had not agreed to come with you?  It would have been so disappointing for you to have failed.  You’ll need a better plan for the future.”

(Yeah...not sure I can pull that again…) You didn’t seem to fully catch his words, tone, and eyes but your heart fluttered all the same.  In answer to his question, you handed him the missive Nobunaga had sent to you.  Mitsuhide took it, his fingers leaving you cold where his absence was pointedly felt, and read the missive.

Akechi Mitsuhide.  You laid hands on the woman I found.  To answer for such a deed, I demand that you attend a celebration in honor of your birthday.  I am certain such an event is a punishment fit for you.  Do not dare defy me.

Mitsuhide’s vision found you again, clearly nonplussed.  You pressed your lips together, watching him carefully.

“I’ve laid my hands on you have I?” He said, his smiling slowly returning, “That doesn’t sound like such a bad idea.”

His hands reached for your arms, capturing you effectively in their grip, and pulled you towards him.  He leaned in, your heart thrilling at what was to come.  You closed your lids, puckering up in excitement.

Warmth brushed your forehead leaving your lashes to flutter open in confusion.  A smirking kitsune met you, “Did you expect a kiss?  I’ll have to reserve that for next time.”  His head moved close to yours, his breath ghosting over your face, “If you understand, then please do as you wish every day and every birthday,” your heart hammered, “when you try and leave, I’ll just continue to capture you like this again and again, as always.”

Mitsuhide released you and bid you goodnight.  Once he was alone and far away, his features softened though sadness filled his eyes, “Except, I am unsure just who the captured one here is…I do not desire to be like this, dear one, but it seems I’ve no choice but to say I am in love with you.”

[stimtoybox]

[image description: a photo on a dappled white and blue night sky quilt cover, showing an assortment of stim toys. From top to bottom, left to right, toys include: a purple unicorn Squeezamal, a plastic tin of Super Brain Putty, a cake scroll squishy, a DIY sponge doughnut squishy, a Mickey mini Tsum Tsum plush, a black infinity cube, a purple metal Slinky, a knobbled pink sensory shape in a pyramid, a marble maze in a sheep print, an orange-red prickled ball, a purple-spotted bean bag, a pink/white/yellow/purple knock-off Tangle Relax Therapy, four hedge balls, and a pink/blue/green Twiddle.]

Today I had to throw out one of my stim toys--a powder-filled balloon-type squishy/stress ball--because the rubber had split from age.

So I thought I’d put together a list post of the stim toys that I find durable--ones that don’t break on me (like Tangles and squishies), don’t deteriorate or become sticky as the plastic degrades (like vinyl cooler packs, silicone squishies, stretchables) or need to be thrown out after a certain amount of time through aging (like slime). If you can’t afford to keep replacing stim toys, these are the ones I’d be looking for in building a stim kit. It’s worth noting that I’m not the most forceful or aggressive stimmer due to my chronic hand pain: some of these things may not be so durable in another stimmer’s hands.

I’ll also give an honourable mention to mermaid sequins (not pictured) although I tend to find sequins on my floor (they do come off) and the pencil cases (especially the K-Mart ones) have issues of zippers stiffening over time. In the main, though, they’re reasonably durable.

For short discussions on why I like the aforementioned toys, please hit “keep reading”:

Squishables

I’m a fan of the many varieties of squishy plushies (the major brand name is Squeezamals, but there’s many knock-offs and imitations) now available. They’re a plush (usually animal) or faux fur coating over a memory foam sphere, and while they’re a little more dense than most squishies, they don’t crack, split, tear or yellow like a commercial foam squishy.

They do cost more than a commercial squishy, but they last a lot longer, and the plush can be wiped over with a damp cloth or baby wipe.

DIY squishes, the kind made from a memory foam or sponge base and covered with layers of fabric paint, are much more durable than commercial foam squishies. They’re more expensive to make, but my doughnut has lasted for almost a year with no cracking or splitting; none of my other active-use squishies has lasted anywhere close to as long.

The one commercial squishy that seems to be stacking up for durability is the Squeeze Eez scroll squishy. The paint is peeling off mine, but the squishy underneath isn’t cracking or splitting, and I carry mine in my backpack where it’s getting smushed between my wallet, water bottle and keys.

Putty

I’ve stopped using slime altogether, although I have kept a few of my favourites. It’s wet, it’s oozy, you have to wash your hands before using it, it melts with time or heat, and it isn’t that portable. Putty doesn’t have the same poking sound, but it’s clean, portable, has no residue (but is slightly drying--use hand lotion after) and while it does soften more in warmer temperatures, it doesn’t melt, mould or discolour. I can leave a tin for six months and find it in much the same state it was when last I used it.

Most brands are fairly decent. Thinking Putty is too expensive here in Australia; my favourite local brand is Ultra Putty.  K-Mart’s Super Brain Putty is a little more brittle (depending on colour/formulation) but its easy to find (and the Super Cosmic Sparkle variant has the prettiness and add-ins of many fancy slimes).

All the putties I’ve liked are as perfect now as they were two years ago, whereas I’ve made and thrown out a lot of slime. The putty just seems so much more cost-effective to me.

(I also like putty over playdough; it doesn’t dry out or collect dirt and dust anywhere near as badly.)

Plush and Soft Toys

If you like fabric textures, these are always going to be among the more durable stim toys. They’re soft, they can be washed when needed and well-made plushies/soft toys are difficult to damage under most stimming conditions.

I like Miniso plush for softness and size (some are as big as pillows) and mini plush like the Disney Tsum Tsums for portability and the texture of the embroidered details and different fabrics.

Slinky

The brand name Slinky is pretty difficult to damage (unless you’re intentionally seeking to do so). I’ve got a few paint chips on mine, but that’s it. It still works as a Slinky despite these cosmetic flaws, and the thicker metal comprising the loops means it’s harder (unlike cheap knock-offs) to get the Slinky tangled in on itself or kinked in the wrong way. It’s not the most subtle or portable of toys, but the sound it makes is amazing.

I’ve used real and fake Slinkies, and if you can get the real one, I do recommend it. It’s easier to use, less prone to tangling, and sturdier; the difference in sound and hand-feel is worth the higher price.

Marble Maze and Bean Bags

Most fabric stim toys, if they’re well-sewn, are going to hold up: the worst that will happen is that a stain doesn’t completely wash out.

I will observe here that I sew my own and I double-seam everything so the fabric or thread will start to rot before it unravels or frays. The durability here may depend on the ability and time of the maker, but if you’re making your own, you have control over the sturdiness.

It’s worth noting that if you fill your bean bag with anything other than plastic pellets or aquarium gravel, you shouldn’t wash it. Unstitch a seam, remove the filling (dried beans, rice, soup mix) and wash the outer before refilling and sewing the seam back up. You can wipe over the outside fabric of bags with mould-prone fillings with a dryish-damp cloth (like a baby wipe) for minor cleaning, if you’re careful not to let the filling get wet.

Infinity Cube

I admit that this isn’t my favourite stim toy, since there isn’t a lot of variation in how I use it. Short of dropping something heavy on it, I don’t think I can break it. It hasn’t stiffened, it hasn’t cracked or broken, and can be wiped over with a baby wipe should it get dusty or dirty.

I wouldn’t toss it loose in a bag for fear of cracking a hinge, but under normal stim usage, the worst I’ve done to it is scratch it.

Tangle Relax Therapy

I love Tangles, but they’re not the most durable stim toy. They’re just not. This said, I haven’t yet managed to break my (knock off) Relax Therapy. For that reason, I’ll cautiously suggest that it may be more durable than other Tangles, perhaps in part because it isn’t designed to come apart as easily as a Tangle Jr.

Twiddle

I don’t like these as much as a Tangle, but they’re designed to break apart and clip back together more readily than a Tangle. There’s no stress on the connector pieces when I do so, in large part because they fasten together by means of a tiny ball slotting into an equally-tiny depression on the opposite piece (making it far more durable than the Tangle peg-and-slot connection). Even when I’m forceful, I see no white stress marks on the pieces.

The real issue, I’ve found, is the risk of losing a piece when the Twiddle is pulled apart.

Prickle Balls and Hedge Balls

Short of taking a pair of scissors to these (or losing the mini hedge balls under the bed) I’m not sure how I’d break these. Likely by putting them under something heavy; running over them with a 4WD might do it! The hedge balls with the stretchable fronds are more prone to breaking and tearing, but the others are just textured balls for rolling, pressing down on and massaging. I’ve had a prickle ball shoved in a bag for a couple of years and other than the ball turning black from the outer bag leeching dye, nothing’s happened to it.

[antarestyl]

‘Sans

A continuation of “Grillby’s” (found here) This might turn into something more. We’ll see :D

AO3 link

Sans's life tended to do not do straight lines but twists and turns. No matter what plans he might have had in the past, things tend to get derailed and off the charts.

That didn't mean it was bad.

Befriending Grillby and falling in love with him was such a twist in his path but one he could never see as something different than wonderful. Still, like any other twist in his life, with one change came another and another and suddenly Sans was carrying boxes with his and Papyrus' belongings into a car and drove all the way towards his new way of life.

“What is the new town like?” asked Papyrus, not for the first time during their drive, turning towards Sans and looking at him with his big black eyes. “Is there a school?”

“Of course there is one, little bro.” chuckled Sans and caught Papyrus in the last second before he could chance the radio station. “Why wouldn't there be?”

“I don't know.” said Papyrus, huffing a bit as his ploy was foiled and leaning back to pout a bit. “Larry said that small towns weren't like cities and that they don't have school or movie theaters or any cool stuff and that they are super boring.”

“Oh, yeah?” asked Sans, glancing to Papyrus. “He said that?”

“Yeah... also he said that only boring and uncool people live there... But I don't wanna be uncool!”

“Hey, hey...” said Sans, frowning a bit more. “Who said that only uncool people live in small towns? Grillby lives there!”

“Mister Grillby is nice but he is not cool.”

“Well... I give you that he is a pretty hot guy huh?” asked Sans, winking.

“Urgh, Sans!”

Sans chuckled slight. “But really, bro. Don't you think Grillby is cool?”

“He is dating you.” said Papyrus flatly.

“Wait, am I not cool?”

“You squeel and hug that Grillby plushy whenever you two were on the phone. There is nothing that can make THAT cool. Ever.” said Papyrus even more flatly and Sans kinda wanted to laugh, protest and sink through the floor of his car in embarrassment.

“You what?”

“Ups...” mumbled Papyrus and grinned as he used the small distraction to change the radio station for good. Sans let him keep the change for now. After all, he had earned that.

They stayed silent for a while until Sans had himself back under control enough to continue their conversation.

“But uh... to come back to the topic on hand.” he begun. “The town totally has a school and many other fun places. It's just smaller and not crowed and people know each other better there. And I bet there is a lot of fun things to do. Grillby said a lot of kids live there and are happy.”

Papyrus huffed again. Sans leaned a bit closer to him.

“And uh... I bet you can get to be the coolest guy there. I mean you are the coolest brother already. You'll be the coolest of everybody there.”

Finally Papyrus looked at him again, a shimmer of hope in his eyes and Sans could almost feel Papyrus' hopes bloom in his magic. “Really?”

“Sure.” Sans said, petting Papyrus' skull with one hand. “You'll be the absolute coolest dude ever. I know it.”

Finally Papyrus laughed a bit, striking a pose as good as he could being strapped into the seat. “Of course! If they really are uncool, then I, the great and cool Papyrus, will teach all of them to be cool and then we can all be popular and cool together! Nyehehehehe!”

Sans chuckled. “Sure, bro.” he said. “I bet if anybody can do it, you'll be it.”

The drive to their new home was pretty cheerful from there on out.

Sans' live has been twists and turns at every opportunity so far. It was a twist that he get to know Grillby, it was a turn when they fell in love. It was a twist when Grillby called him about an important family matter he had to attend to but nobody to mind the shop, it was a turn when Sans told him he would do it.

It was a twist when Sans decided to move to Grillby's home, it was a turn that it was absolutely nothing like he thought it would be.

Grillby owned the local grocery store of the little town, a little building with the name “Grillby's” on a sign on top of it. Sans thought it looked like a bar or something to be honest. The interior was small and the selection of goods was limited but Grillby's magic and care was infused into all parts of it and that made it all the more special.

Sans was honestly floored when Grillby explained to him what minding the store would be like for him for the next week, simple tasks like restocking and selling people items and complex ones like minding the books, ordering supplies and making sure everything was in order.

“... you got all of that...?” Grillby finally asked, flames flickering softly in the rather dark store and Sans could only think how beautiful Grillby looked. It took him a second to register the question.

“Uh... sure. I think.”

“... if there are questions... or problems... you can call me.”

“Na, Grills.” Sans said softly. “You got enough to worry about with your family. Let me worry about the store for a week.”

“... are you sure... you are up to it?” asked Grillby again. “You don't have to do it...”

“I want to.” said Sans. “I did something like that before. This is just up-scaled and a few extras. Don't worry, okay?”

Grillby still looked at him as if he was this close to cancelling his plans so Sans took out his ultimative attack. His magic reached out and grapped the small Sans-plush he had given to Grillby years ago and which looked well-loved by now. Grillby watched curiously as Sans let the small plush fly close to Grillby, dipping the small skull made of fabric agaist Grillby's cheek in a “kiss” of sorts. Grillby in turn flushed a beautiful shade of blue.

“Kiss kiss.” said Sans chuckling which in turn made Grillby laugh a bit too. Sans took out his own Grillby plush and showed it Grillby before setting it down beside the register. “See? You are helping me.”

Grillby laughed out-lout at this and the topic was not brought up again until the moment Grillby was about to leave.

“Mister Grillby?” asked Papyrus the evening before Grillby had to leave. “Why do you have to leave?”

“There is an important family emergency.” said Grillby, voice soft as he shoved some more rice on Sans' plate. Sans in the meantime tried to cover most of his plate in ketchup. “That is why I have to leave so quickly after you two got here...”

“But what kind of emergency?” asked Papyrus again and Sans felt himself cringe a bit. Grillby was a very private person and Papyrus... well Papyrus was still a baby bones. Okay, he was almost thirteenth now but still, he was a kid and he asked questions. A lot.

“Why do you want to know?” asked Grillby still softly and Papyrus huffed at the apparent none-answer to his questions.

“Well you just go away... I wanna know! Can I help? Is the emergency bad?”

Grillby blinked and chuckled and Sans felt himself relax a bit. Of course Papyrus would try and help and of course Grillby would see the same in Sans' brother like Sans did.

“I am afraid there is not much you can do, Papyrus.” Grillby said softly, sitting down to look Papyrus into the eyes. “... it's my mother. She is sick right now.”

“Oh no!” gasped Papyrus. “Is she gonna be okay?” Sans wanted to ask the same. He had talked to her a few times, on the phone or the like. She was a nice lady.

“She will.” Grillby said and Sans felt himself relaxing a bit. “It's not that bad. But we flames tend to heal better and faster when we are with our family.”

“Really?” asked Papyrus. “Why?”

“It's our magic.” explained Grillby and held out his hand, palm side up. A small blueish flame sparked and flickered in his hand, almost separated from the orange ones that made up his body. “Our bodies are more magic than dust. All elementals are like that.” he explained. “and our family shares magic. We flames share our magic and heat to make each other feel better.”

“Ooooooohhhh...” said Papyrus, looking like he was thinking hard. “Do you think she would like a bone attack? Like... me and Sans sometimes spar with them so it's like sharing bones?”

Sans blinked at that. Grillby did too.

“Like, you and Sans and... and me are family right? So your mom is family too so I wanna share something so she can feel better!”

Sans felt a bit faint with the apparent cuteness. Grillby just nodded slowly and chuckled a bit.

“I... think she would very much appreciate it.” he said finally. Papyrus beamed at him brighter than the flame in Grillby's hand.

Grillby left the next day with a very light suitcase. But the things that had to come with him were two bone-attacks, his Sans-plush and a very adorable self-made get-well-wishing card.

“So, it's just you and me now, huh?” said Sans to his Grillby plush as he sat down in the shop for his first day of “work”.

It was 7 o'clock in the morning. Sans had stocked up as Grillby had told him, had turned on the lights and had flipped the sign to “open”. So far nobody has come to the shop. All in all it was kinda boring.

Sans eyed the stack of newspapers that was laying beside him. They were a bit old. Grillby apparently got one every day but never really red them so they were stacking up at the register. Sans looked over the top-most one.

It was breaking news. A few weeks ago. A fire in a very upscale laboratory in a big city not far from here. Some humans and monster apparently were trying to mix magic with science in a way that shouldn't be messed with. Luckily nobody seemed to be seriously hurt by the fire but it seems whatever the big project was, it's on ice now.

Sans turned away from the newspapers. He didn't want to read anymore about that.

Instead he took out his sewing kit and some spare fabric.

Sewing always was a little bit of an odd hobby for him. As a small baby bones he already learned how to sew simple things and helped fixing Papyrus' clothes early on too. Papyrus after all always was an energetic soul, so no matter what his clothes suffered from it. Also the clothes produced by humans usually didn't fit well on skeletons so he also learned how to make them fit better.

The plushies kinda were some test at first. The first one he made was a birthday present for Papyrus. It really was just a more-or-less round lumb of grey fluff, but Papyrus had loved that thing, calling it his “Pet rock” and Sans was kinda really happy when he spotted “Rocky” in the moving box labeled “important Papyrus stuff” with red crayon.

He got better over time of course. But Grillby was the first one he gave one of his plushies outside of his family. The little Sans plush was intended as a joke at first. So you can always have a little me with you. But Grillby was so HAPPY about it and had sent Sans a ton of pictures of himself hugging the little plush or doing cute stuff like nuzzling the soft fabric or sitting with the plush on his couch or having the plush tugged into his bed.

It was so darn adorable, Sans just couldn't tell Grillby it was supposed to be a joke. After some consideration he had send Grillby a picture of his own Grillby plush sitting on his bed and the rest was history.

The plush he was making now was a special one too. He didn't had much white fabric anymore but there was still enough for what he had in mind.

“Oh that is a really cute plushy.” said a voice right beside Sans suddenly and he was started quite badly by it, yelping and almost falling from his chair.

“Oh my gosh I didn't wanna scare you! A...are you alright? Did... did you hurt yourself? Oh no... Oh no oh no what do I do...?” continued the voice and Sans sat up panting a bit.

“I am okay, I am okay!” he quickly said. “Just startled. uh...?” He finally looked up and had absolutely no idea who he had in front of him.

The monster nervously playing with their hands was a yellow lizard monster. She was barely taller than Sans and wore a small pair of glasses.

“Uh... uhm... I am Alphys.” the lizard said. “Uh... sorry... I uh... wait, where is Grillby?” she asked.

“Out of town for a week.” Sans said. “I am Sans.”

“And I am Alphys.” said Alphys. There were a few seconds of awkward silence. “Uh... I already said that huh?”

Sans chuckled. “Yeah but that way it sicks better.”

“Uh... good.” Alphys said. “So... Grillby's is out of town?”

“Saily.” said Sans. “Uh... you need anything?”

“Oh! Yeah, of course...” Alphys mumbled and put her groceries on the counter and Sans rung her up. Milk, an apple, some candy and some packages of ramen noodles. Sans very much did not judge her, he ate worse during his university time.

“So... uh... do you work for Grillby?” asked Alphys. “I never saw you before.”

“Moved in with my little bro just a few days ago.” Sans explained. “So uh... you probably didn't saw me.”

“You got a little brother?” asked Alphys.

“Yeah. Papyrus.” Sans said smiling. “He is twelve right now.”

“Oh! Then I'll probably see him in school soon!” Alphys cheered. “I am a teacher there.”

“Nice.” said Sans, smiling a bit. “Papyrus was worried there wouldn't be a school here.”

“Of course there is!” said Alphys. “It's the best! But so... you are here for the whole week?”

“Yep.” said Sans. “Just until Grillby is back.”

“I hope he is okay...” mumbled Alphys. “Grillby's has been here for years with Grillby in it, it's kinda strange to see somebody else... uh... not that you are bad! Just... uh...”

Sans chuckled. “It's strange seeing this bonehead when you are used to the hot guy huh?” he teased and watched with amazement when bright yellow spread over Alphy's cheeks in a dark flush.

“Don't. Say. Anything.” she said, half squealing and half trying and failing to be intimidating.

Sans just chuckled and told Alphys the sum of her purchase. Money exchanged hands and farewells were spoken. As Alphys left Sans thought about how Alphys seemed oddly familiar to him.

Only hours later Sans took some black and orange tape and changed the sign from Grillby to 'Sans. Over the morning EVERYBODY had asked him what happened to Grillby and who he was and Sans decided that the sign at this point was just false advertising. 'Sans told the people exactly what they would find inside.

And because he could never let an opportunity pass, he made a ton of pictures of baffled regulars and other townfolks. Grillby seemed to like his pictures a lot after all.

The Papyrus-plush slowly took form.

The next day Sans met Toriel.

“So you are Sans huh?” he asked as she came to him, basked full with baking stuff and chocolate.

“Yep.” agreed Sans, grinning a bit. “And you?”

“Oh, I am sorry. My name is Toriel.”

“Toriel, huh?” mumbled Sans, the name seeming strangely familiar. “So... baking up a storm?”

“Oh, just a little bit.” she chuckled. “I got a kid at home that would live only on cake and chocolate if they could... and my son will return from college at the end of the week.”

“Well sounds like you need a lot of those then.” said Sans with a chuckle.

Toriel hummed and her gaze fell onto the sewing stuff and the half-finished Papyrus-plush.

“Are you sewing?” she asked. “That looks pretty good.”

“Hmmm...” made Sans and nodded before grinning a bit. “Hey know know why the skeleton made himself some plushies?”

“No?”

“Because he was a bit bonely.”

Toriel blinked at him before starting to laugh out loud. She needed a few seconds before she had herself under control again. She looked at Sans, mostly serious again before speaking.

“Bonely, huh?” she said softly. “How about a friend then?”

Sans looked at her, feeling curious to where she was going.

“You can't go around with no body.” Toriel told him.

Sans blinked. Did she... had she...?

“You got to work on your social skulls if you wanna have friends.” she continued. She was looking at him. It finally clicked with Sans.

He started laughing out loud. He doubled over. He had to hold his stomach even thou he didn't even had one!

“You... you are the greatest!” Sans laughed out. He tried very hard to pull himself together. “H..hey, let's play a game.”

“A game?”

“Knock knock.” said Sans and Toriel's face lit up.

“Who is there?”

“Dishes.”

“Dishes who?”

“Dishes a very bad joke.”

Toriel beaked. Sans beamed brighter than the sun outside.

That evening Sans send Grillby a picture of himself and Toriel. They had exchanged numbers too. She really was a great lady, full of witty jokes and a sharp mind and Sans couldn't wait having her at the shop again.

He was a bit concerned when Grillby told him that there was some kind of history with Toriel but he didn't payed it to much of a mind. Toriel was just the lady that told bad jokes and puns to him and he wasn't really that interested in the past, be it hers or his own.

The base for his Papyrus plush was finally finished. Now he only needed some clothes for it.

“I miss Mister Grillby.” mumbled Papyrus in the evening.

“Yeah me too.” said Sans softly. They were eating dinner alone together. Before moving to this town that was the usual case. There was only Sans and Papyrus for a very long time after all and still, it only took a few days to make it feel like there was something big missing with only the two of them in the kitchen.

“When will he be back?” asked Papyrus while slowly moving his food a bit around on his plate.

“Just two or three more days.” reminded Sans him. He tried to sound more cheerful than he felt. He probably failed with that. “But we talked earlier on the phone and he told me to tell you hi.”

Papyrus giggled a bit “Tell him hi back?”

“I will.” chuckled Sans. “How are you otherwise? Have fun at school?”

“Yeah...” mumbled Papyrus. “It's a small school but most people are very nice! But there are some older people that are a bit scary...”

“Scary?” asked Sans, turning back to Papyrus.

“Uh... not bad!” said Papyrus quickly. “Just uh... probably in need of a real friend! I only ever saw them all alone and nobody talks to them...”

“Uhu?” made Sans.

“Yeah uh... they are a bit older than me and they made a lot of mistakes... but I still think they want to be good and will make right choices soon!”

Sans chuckled softly. “If you say so bro... just uh... be careful? Like uh... don't spread yourself to thin there bro. There are lots of people to be cool with.”

“I guess you are right.” mumbled Papyrus. “It's just... I bet they it would only take one good friend...”

“But only if they are ready for a friend.” said Sans. “I think they know that already. But if they are not ready for a friend yet, they won't be your friend.”

Payprus seemed deep in thought about that. He finally nodded slowly. “I will think about that, brother.” he finally said and took a bite from his food.

Sans smiled a bit.

He met Kris when it was time to close up the shop. He had heard about them from Toriel already of course but also some other regulars told him of the single human living in town. Kris was... kinda strange all things considered.

When they were looking at him their face brightened up and they came running to them, greeting Sans as if he was an old friend. Sans was greatly confused by this. They were asking him about Grillby's too of course but also about Alphys and Toriel as if not only they were friends but he was being friends with these two for a long time or at least deeply involved in their plans!

All in all the whole exchange freaked Sans out. Especially because something DID rattle around his skull when they were talking about this stuff.

Other people that came to his shop mentioned Kris acting strange that day too.

Sans didn't like it one bit.

He wrote Grillby in the evening and with his nerves calmed, he made a call to some very old acquaintances.

The call didn't really help him much but he felt like he was closer to remembering something had forgotten he had forgotten.

He cuddled his Grillby plush tightly that night. He really really missed Grillby.

The next day Papyrus came over, together with Kris and some purple lizard monster.

“Sans!” he cried. “Sans I made some friends and we gonna play together!”

Sans looked at the monster (name was Susie, she said) and Kris and felt something cold running down his back.

He suggested them to play with his brother and now they did. Sans had no idea how to handle the whole situation. Kris looked at him with curious eyes.

When Papyrus showed Susie around the room they stepped to Sans and he looked them over again. They seemed different from yesterday.

“I need your help...” they whispered to Sans. “Please...”

Well, Sans' life was about to get even more twists and turns.

A twist was getting to know Kris yesterday.

A turn was meeting Kris Dreemurr for real.

[rosymaplemoth]

Girls’ Night

I wrote this drabble last night at a write-in, so it sort of tapers off rather quickly, but I had fun. This is an CR OC-only story, with canon characters only being mentioned.

!Modern AU! (Not to be mistaken with Idol AU, which is different.)

Wordcount: 1734 Pairing: (mention of) Nemonnax and Avice (yeah, they have ship names. Nice.) Rating: PG-13, I guess? Warnings: Language, mentions of sex toys (thanks, Alice), bad “The Godfather” jokes

Miss Irene Adler belongs to @thebluestmage and I love her so much ioi

---

“Hey! Hurry up and open the door, my hands are full!”

She wasn’t supposed to be here for another fifteen minutes, and she’s kicking instead of knocking.

“Could you not kick the door, Alice?” I say, turning turning the page of my book.

“You should be grateful I brought dinner! The gnocchi will get cold if you don’t hurry, and if the gnocchi gets cold I will never forgive you because the Boss made it himself and he always makes THE BEST stuff!!”

As much as I hate to admit my own selfishness, free food does change things. I set my book aside and stand up, quickly hopping over to the door to open it.

Miss Alice Liddell comes bursting in, still in her work uniform. Even her little bow tie is still on, sparkling and white with a cleanliness that doesn’t match its owner.

“It’s hot, grab it grab it grab it!”

Alice shoves a dish into my arms and, oh, she was not kidding about it being hot. I stumble over to the kitchen counter and set it down on a towel, rubbing my hands to lessen the sting.

“So, made by the Boss himself, huh?” I look over my shoulder at Alice, who’s still poking around my door. “How many people did you have to off to get this?”

“Don’t be tacky, Polly, it doesn’t suit you. Ooooh, what’s this?” Alice picks up a rather large box and grins. “Hey, what’cha order? Wait, let me guess… a full-sized model of some nerdy-ass prehistoric fish.”

“I haven’t ordered anything,” I say, walking over to where she’s standing. “And we usually have to pick up our packages downstairs, anyway.”

Alice’s eyes light up. “Maybe it’s a bomb! Or a severed head!”

I glance slowly over at her.

“If it was a bomb, you probably would’ve set it off with all the shaking. And, uh… do severed heads get delivered often?”

“Oh, honey, don’t ask me.” Alice tilts her head. “Copying the movies is tacky, and this box isn’t big enough for a horse head, anyway.”

“You’re the one who was talking about severed heads in the first place…” I take the box from Alice and look down at it. There are stamps on it, but the label’s been changed. When I see the return address, I let out a sigh and let a small smile cross my lips.

“A bomb’s more likely than a head in this case,” I say. “But he wouldn’t be stupid enough to leave one on my doorstep.”

“Oh?” Alice crosses her arms as I set the package down on the coffee table and walk back over to the gnocchi. “Hey, hold on, aren’t you going to open it?”

“Oh, probably later,” I reply, pulling the lid off the food. “God, he could make an honest living off of this stuff.”

“Yeah, but he’s so much more fun as a dangerous guy, you know?” Alice pops the cork on a bottle of wine—where had she been hiding that?—and grins. “You understand me, right? With that weird Matrix boyfriend of yours! Open the box, I wanna see what he sent you! Do you have any ideas?”

“Well, um…”

I think back to the last few e-mails I had exchanged with him. He was going to be going abroad for work and had said:

‘OH! I’ll be sending something your way too. Something that can give you lots of love while I’m gone, okay? ^o^ ^o^ ^o^ Just don’t love too much on it, or I’ll get jealous! : ( : ( : ( : ( I miss you already, please keep me updated on those saltwater filters you’ve been researching! O_O I want to hear all about the effects they’ll have on the transportation of…‘

Etcetera etcetera.

“Oh. My. God.” an awful grin splits Alice’s face when I tell her the gist of it. “Polly, honey, he totally sent you a dildo!”

“What?!” I swing my head over to glare at her.

“Oh, that’s so cute! Something to use while you think of him!” Alice dances from foot to foot, twirling like she’s talking about lollipops and rainbows instead of silicone penises. “Mr. Avido did something similar for me, once. He got me the cutest pair of panties and a remote-controlled vibrator and—”

Alice is only stopped when I fling a throw pillow her way.

Any further discussion on Alice’s part is interrupted by another knock at the door.

“Oh thank god,” I mutter. “Irene.” I quickly walk over to the door and open it up, looking at the taller woman gratefully.

“What’s the matter, kitten?” she asks. “Alice bullying you already?”

“Weirdo-Man got her a dildo!” Alice shrieks with laughter.

“Well, that’s the first I’ve heard about that…” Irene smiles sympathetically at me.

“I’m so sorry. He doesn’t talk your ear off, does he?” I murmur, but she waves it off.

“Yes, but he did that even before he met you,” she walks in and shuts the door behind her. “Nemo’s loud, but he’s a sweetheart most of the time.”

Irene walks over to the box and looks down at it with a smile. “He has talked to me about this, though. It’s not a dildo, Alice, sorry.”

“Aw, Miss Adler, don’t crush my dreams!”

“If I don’t crush your dreams you’ll get spoiled,” Irene takes a deep breath, smiling at the aroma of good food. “Your boyfriend’s going to be hard to beat, though.”

“Ew, come on,” Alice shakes her head. “He isn’t my boyfriend, he’s my Boss. He’s my ‘capo’, my ‘padrone’, my ‘signore’—”

“If I open the box, will you stop butchering Italian?” I ask.

Alice sits down cross-legged and silently hands Irene the bottle of wine.

I drum my fingers on the box before looking up at the two girls, a blush beginning to spread across my cheeks. “Look, it’s kind of embarrassing when the two of you are staring at me like that. Go grab some plates or something.”

“Go get some plates, Alice,” says Irene.

“Oh, come on!” Alice pouts up at her, but stands up without further complaint and goes to dish out her boyfriend’s, um, Boss’ cooking.

Once Alice has her back turned, Irene nods at me and I tear into the box with glee.

It opens rather easily, and there’s a ‘pop’ as a cloud of confetti bursts into the air, making me gasp.

“Cute…” Irene says with a slow smile. “He initially wanted to put fireworks in it, but I told him that probably wasn’t a good idea.”

“My face thanks you,” I reply. I move the confetti container inside and am faced with a wall of pink. “What is this…?”

It’s soft and plush, and squishes when I reach in to grab it.

“It’s a…”

“He knows how much you love them,” Irene’s looking on proudly.

I feel tears brimming at the edges of my eyes already.

“It’s so cute!” I hug the squid to my chest and hug it. It’s so large that I can wrap both my legs and arms around it as I bury my face in the soft fabric. It smells like him, too, like leather and oil and circuits and science.

“ACK I missed it!” Alice runs over, but her expression drops when she sees me nuzzling my face into a cushiony cephalopod. “What the fuck.”

“Isn’t it sweet?” Irene rests her elbow on Alice’s head. “He made it himself. He actually dragged the poor thing with him to a bunch of meetings while he was sewing it. Finis was thrilled about that…”

“He went to all that trouble?” my voice is muffled, but I don’t want them to see me crying. He hasn’t even left the country yet and I’m already getting emotional. It’s just two weeks… just two weeks. “It’s warm, too… just like he is…”

I sniff, and I feel a gentle hand on my head.

“Aw, kitten, he made it so you wouldn’t be lonely,” says Irene.

“I don’t get it,” says Alice as she pauses to shovel a spoonful of gnocchi in her mouth.

“You don’t understand making someone a present to show someone you love them?”

“Nope,” another shovelful. “Why not just buy it?”

“… Why not just buy it, indeed,” Irene stares pointedly at Alice’s plate.

I wipe my eyes and stand up to fix myself a plate of Avido’s gnocchi.

“Hey, Irene,” I say. “I know you can’t go into details, but…”

I turn around and hand her the serving spoon. “This stuff isn’t… I mean, will he be safe?”

“If he can resist pushing Finis’ buttons, he’ll be fine,” Irene replies.

“Oh no…”

‘Pushing buttons’ is a rather bad habit of Nemo’s. Despite looking, well, not innocent, but… perhaps unobservant is the better word? Despite looking unobservant, Nemo’s always noticing things about the people he talks to. His mind’s like a computer, I swear he has a mental registry of every single insecurity of every single person that he has ever interacted with, ever. And sometimes, just for the meanness of it, he’ll make the most innocuous of comments that absolutely drip with malice. And he’ll do it all with a clueless expression or sometimes even an impish smile. But if you call him out on it, he’ll just stare at you as though you have no idea what he’s talking about. He’s just making an observation, it’s just an opinion, why are you making such a big deal out of it?

As I rub my temples, I thank my luck that I haven’t been on the receiving end of one of his “observations”. My self-esteem is withered enough as it is.

No, instead I glance over at the happy-looking squid sitting on my couch and smile.

“Y’know,” Alice takes a sip of wine. “It’s kind of funny to think about, but really… Polly’s the only one with a job she can freely talk about.”

“There’s confidential stuff, too,” I say.

“What, do you have a secret stash of octopi or something?” Alice laughs.

“Octopuses, and no. It’s mostly things like donor lists and the like,” I say.

“Wow,” Alice’s voice is deadpan. “How scandalous. Donor lists.”

The exchanges go on like this as we eat, and I can’t help but think about how strange it is that the three of us are here with each other.

Strange, but nice.

[clipchipcrafts]

Commission Info

Hi Guys!

Welcome to my new commissions account! Here is where I’ll post about craft projects I’ve completed, open commission slots, and some other crafting stuff, probably, most likely. 

Anyway, here’s a general breakdown on prices and commissions with me, also visible on the commissions link on my profile page, which may or may not be visible on mobile.

General Stuff: 

I work on commissions in order of whoever pays the materials fee/deposit first. So you can sign up for a commission, but it may take me a bit to get to it. I will let you know when I go buy the materials for your commission, which is basically the signal that your number has been called.

I’m open to all fandoms! I also do OCs, but must have references. 

Since I open commissions sporadically, I don’t do holds, rain checks or heads up. I have limited slots as well and I just don’t think it’s fair.

Payment:

So sorry, but I do not offer payment plans.

Payment is through paypal only and is split into two invoices. The first is sent after the design is finalized and is the material’s fee/deposit. If you cancel your commission and materials have already been purchased, you forfeit your deposit! The second invoice involves the remaining cost of the commission + shipping. All shipping is done through the United Sates Postal Service, and since plushies are pretty bulky can run high :( I’m sorry, I have no control over shipping prices. I am willing to ship outside the USA, just keep in mind that international rates are higher. 

Contact:

You can message me here on tumblr or at my email Clipchip101@gmail.com.

I reserve the right to refuse any commission.

Shipping: Please keep in mind that shipping costs varies by location, and is not under my control. I’m limited by what the postal service offers. I ship from California.

Backpacks: 

Base price for backpacks, without wings or add-ons is $80. With wings or additional pieces it jumps to $140, because the materials needed for them are a bit pricier.. Prices vary between backpacks however because each one is custom and different. So it could be more it it’s particularly complicated. 

Contact me, tell me about what you want. Maybe you just want a backpack made out of some fabric you saw online or at a store, if I can get my hands on it, we’re good to go! If you want a custom character backpack, like my winged transformers bags, give me the character and details. 

Select a backpack style. I’ve got multiple styles you can choose from! I’ll send you your options.

After you’ve picked your style, I’ll come up with a digital mock-up to give you an idea of how the backpack will look when it’s finished! After you approve the design we can go to the next step. Don’t forget, you can pick what kind of fabric you’d like inside as well. 

Material shopping! I require an $50 materials fee for plain bags, $80 for bags with custom accessories. I’ll send you an invoice on Paypal. Non-refundable unless your commission hasn’t been started.

Construction. I start sewing! Completing a project in full can take up to 3 weeks, because, you know, life :P. But I’ll send you pics of the backpack when it’s finished and then the wings/extras.

Final Payment and Shipping! Another invoice will be sent after I calculate shipping cost, add that to the remaining fee for the backpack, and ship it out!

Slippers: 

Base price is $75. May be more if the character gives me a lot of trouble. Made out of fleece and felt, with grip fabric for the bottom of the shoes and a foam interior.

Reach out to me here or at my email :)

There’s only one style of slippers but tell me what character you want! I’m open to any and all, but if something turns out too difficult to work, I’ll let you know.

I’ll make a rough sketch or digital mock up to ok the design if it hasn’t been seen before.

Materials shopping! For these, $30 for materials is needed up front. Non-refundable unless I haven’t bought anything yet.  

I get sewing! Please allow up to 3 weeks after I’ve let you know I’ve bought the materials :)

Final Payment and Shipping! Another invoice will be sent after I calculate shipping cost, add that to the remaining fee, and out it goes.

Plushies: 

Great news! I now offer two sizes! Small and Large. Made out of felt with a beanbag butt.

Small: These are 9 inches standing, 7 sitting. Cannot be over detailed, so please keep that in mind. Base price: $75. May be more if it’s complicated in design or has a lot of extra kibble or parts. $30 materials fee.

Large: 13 inches tall, sitting. About the size of a baby XD you can snuggle it. Base price is $110. May be more if the character gives me a lot of trouble. $50 materials fee.

Ask about accessories for your plush!  $3-$10 - knitted scarves, bags, just  little something you give your plush some swagger~

Reach out to me here or email me at clipchip101@gmail.com.

Tell me what character you want :D There’s only one style but I’m open to any and all. I’ll let you know if there’s something I can’t do.

I’ll make a rough sketch or digital mock up to ok the design if it hasn’t been seen before.

Materials shopping is up next. I’ll send you an invoice the materials fee. Non-refundable unless I haven’t bought the materials yet.

Sewing! Please allow up to 3 weeks after I’ve let you know I’ve bought the materials :)

Payment and Shipping! A second invoice will be sent after I calculate shipping cost, add that to remaining cost, and out it goes.

Chibi Dolls: 

Available in one size at the moment, and limited to human characters only. Made out of craft velour with vinyl face. 1 simple outfit included in price. Additional clothes available for additional fees. 10 inches tall. $100+ shipping. 

Perfect if you have a human OC you’d like a plush of! or you love some obscure character (I feel your pain) that there’s no merchandise of.  

Coin Purses: 

These little guys are $15.  Just email me the character you’d like. Faces are flat and made of felt. Minor details. :D $7.50 upfront, remaining due+ shipping when finished.

Palm Pal Plush Charms: 

same deal, $15, simple designs, come with key chain ring or phone strap link. $7.50 upfront, remaining due+ shipping when finished.

Custom Fabric Design: 

If you want a particular pattern on fabric, like for a cosplay or something, and can’t find something close enough to what you’re looking for, call me up! Send me a pic of what you want, or an idea, and I’ll make a printable pattern, load it up to Spoonflower or a similar site and there you go, custom fabric for all your needs!

This work is hourly though, $10 an hour, since not all patterns are alike.

Great for custom cosplays! 

Thanks all~ Let me know if you have any questions! 

[the-metal-reaper]

The Ghost and the Guard - Fake Ending

Today, we’re going back to the first installment, where we get a peek at what could’ve been. Enjoy!

“In the vent! In the vent!!”

Mike leaps towards the button, pressing it in the nick of time. The vent shuts right on the endoskeleton’s face. Charlie listenes at the vent for a moment, than gives her friend a thumbs-up. He releases the button, and the vent opens again.

“What time is it?” The spirit tucks a lock of her short brown hair behind her ear, panting.

“Twenty minutes to six.”

“C’mon, Mike, we can do this!”

"Isn't this why you came here? To be with her again…" A child’s voice echoes through the hallway. Mike looks away, trying to hide the guilt that’s settled in his stomach.

“I-I don’t think I can do this…” Mike fiddles with the strings on his sweatshirt.

With a huff, Charlie pushes Mike into the desk chair, and moves in front of the monitor. “Just sit tight, I’ll get us through. Don’t worry.”

“Charlie, it’s okay, I can—“

“Shush!” To her left, Charlie hears the shift of metal and the grinding of gears. She slams the door right in time. Minute by minute, Charlie keeps the endoskeleton out of the office, with a few close scrapes keeping her alert.

Five minutes to six. Charlie can’t find the clown in any of the cameras. Panic begins to rise in her throat, but she soon locates him near the right door.

Four minutes to six. The thing is close, too close for comfort, but Charlie’s only on 6% power. She needs to conserve it. Mike is silent in the back corner of the office, clutching the Fredbear plush he found for dear life.

Three minutes. The endoskeleton lingers in the hallway, but Charlie isn’t sure how close it is. She’s too afraid to check the cameras. Instead, she paces the claustrophobic office with silent footsteps.

Two minutes. It’s closer now, but not close enough to warrant closing the door. The power’s on 1%.

One. The endoskeleton lunges at Mike, trying to drag him out of the room. Mike kicks at it, but he’s no match for its robotic strength. With a shriek, Charlie grabs a flashlight and bludgeons the clown over the head. It turns and aims a swipe at her, but the wires pass right through her ghostly body.

Ding-ding-ding-ding. Ding-ding-ding-ding. The clock chimes six o'clock. The endoskeleton glares one last time at the two friends, then walks out the door and disappears into the dark hallway. Charlie pants heavily, flashlight clanking to the floor next to her.

“Lee… that was amazing.” Mike wraps her in a grateful hug. “You saved my life. Again.”

“Guess you’ll just have to owe me.” Charlie grins.

“I owe you so much more than that.”

“Now, let’s not get sappy. We need to conserve all our snappiness for tonight!”

“Let’s go!!”

“You burned down my house?!”

“You call that a house? It was like a morgue in there.”

“I may be undead, but you're heartless.”

Mike and Charlie grin at the insane melodrama that is their favorite television show.

“As the hair on the back of a cat stands up straight, so also does the love between Vlad and Clara stand up against all obstacles, but what about the baby? What about the bad child support? Stay tuned next season for all those answers and more.”

“Aww, they got back together!” Charlie sniffs.

“I told you they would.”

The spirit can hear a grinding noise coming from behind her. Still on edge from before, she turns, and shrieks at what she sees.

Charlie grabs the remote control from Mike’s hands, and begins to bash the robot over the head, but it doesn’t seem to affect the endoskeleton. The plastic remote, however, begins to crack.

“We only want to speak to him.” It watches the two friends thoughtfully.

Charlie doesn’t waver. “Really?! Like you wanted to talk to him before? Gimme a break, you little—”

“Lee,” Putting an arm in between the spirit and the robot, Mike yanks the splinted remote control out of Charlie’s hands. “Let it speak.”

“No!”

The endoskeleton, seeing that its “assailant” had been disarmed, begins to speak. “We apologize for what happened tonight. We didn’t mean for it to get that bad, but after you didn’t follow our instructions—”

“—thanks to me by the way.” Charlie adds angrily.

“Wait, what do you mean, your instructions?” Mike asks, “Wasn’t that…”

The robot pauses for a moment. “Considering she is your little sister, we spoke to you with Elizabeth’s voice, so you would be more comfortable.”

“So you emotionally manipulated him? What makes you think you have the right to do that?” Charlie glares at it.

“We wanted to be free.” Its’ eye stares back at her, waiting for another ‘attack.’ “And yes, the way we pursued our desire was wrong, but our hearts were in the right place.”

The three sit in tense silence for a while. Charlie watches the endoskeleton, conflicted. After a minute, she sighs. Mike opens his mouth to say something, but Charlie holds up a hand to stop him.

“I’m… sorry. I know what you’ve been through. I’ve been through it too. And… it could’ve gone worse. At least you didn’t hurt him.”

“Do you… want to stay? With us? This house is too big for one guy and a ghost.” Mike smiles at the robot.

The endoskeleton stares at him, almost surprised. “That would be fantastic. Thank you, Mr. Af—“

“Michael.” Mike says quickly. “Call me Michael. Or Mike. Whichever you prefer. Just… not that.”

“Alright. And if you prefer, you may call me… Ennard.” Ennard watches his new roommates, a small smile spreading across their face.

Smiling back at them, Charlie joins in. “I’m--”

“Charlotte Miller, of course.” Ennard is grinning now. “Elizabeth recognises you.”

“She does? How…” After seeing Mike’s face, Charlie lets her sentence die.

Mike pushes back his chair, looking away from his friends. “I-I’m tired. I think I’m gonna go to bed. G’nite, guys.” He flashes a sad smile at his friends, then trudges off to his bedroom.

Ennard stares at the empty doorway of Mike’s bedroom. “Did we say something wrong?”

“No, Mike’s just… this week’s been really hard for him.”

“Because of us.”

Charlie stares at Ennard, shocked that they would admit something like that. They are a robot, after all. I guess that’s just how Ennard works. “Yeah.”

Ennard and Charlie sit together in awkward silence. “I’d offer to turn on the TV,” Charlie starts, “but…” They look down together with silent laughter at the shattered remote control.

“What do you usually do when Michael’s asleep?”

“I usually, um… well, I guess it’s easier to just show you.” Leaning down, Charlie pulls out a container that’s overflowing with handmade plushies. “I like to sew these little guys.”

“These are very intriguing, Charlotte. They’re quite… cute.”

“Aw, thank you!” Charlie beams at Ennard, and the rest of the night flies by as the two go through Charlie’s many creations.